Seize the Day (18 page)

We finally pulled up at the hotel. It apparently was busy, based on the nearly full parking lot. I began envisioning myself in the bed; fatigue was coming down. I didn't sleep on the bus as I expected. I got my bag out of the trunk and hugged Kathy one more time.

“Text me your address when you get home. Your work address.”

“Why? You sending me something?” she asked, smiling.

“Yep. It's a surprise. But I'm sure you'll like it.”

She shook her head—not in dismay, but happiness, which made me feel good. I watched her drive away and took another look at the sky. I appreciated God and his magnificence more and tried to take it in whenever I could.

Just as I was about to turn and walk into the hotel, I saw an image out of my peripheral vision. When I turned to see a dog approaching me, I was startled and stepped back.

I didn't like dogs; I was afraid of them and I didn't like the idea of them as pets. Didn't make sense that a human would get attached to an animal. I looked around to see where I could run if the dog attacked.

But it was not a big dog. Looked like a Labrador retriever. I guessed that because it looked like my cousin's dog from my childhood. I hated that dog.

For all those cars in the lot, there was no one outside. The dog and I stared at each other from about ten feet away. I figured he was sizing me up; I surely was doing the same to him.

My fear eased, though. First of all, he was too little to do any damage. I also I assessed what I was looking at—a dog looking for comfort. I noticed he was bleeding behind an ear and along his back. It looked like he had been in a fight—and lost.

I quickly looked around for the dog that delivered the beating to this little mutt, who had to be no more than a few months old. I did not see one.

“You OK, doggie?” I said, trying to sound comforting.

The dog murmured, as if he understood me. Then he lowered his head and slowly walked toward me. Somehow, I felt sorry for him.

“You OK? You been in a fight?”

The dog crept closer, to where I could bend down and touch it. I had no interest in touching dogs and certainly not a stray dog. But something in me forced me to bend over and rub the dog's fur. So I did, tentatively and softly.

The dog flinched. I looked at my hand and there was blood on it. I looked into the dog's eyes and he looked to have tears welling up. My heart sunk. I had to help the dog, somehow.

“Come on. Come with me,” I said, as I walked into the hotel lobby. This dog understood. Well, maybe he didn't. But he followed me.

“Hi, sir,” the front desk clerk said. “Is that your dog?”

I looked down at him and he looked up at me. I couldn't leave him hanging.

“Yeah, he is.”

“I'm sorry, but we don't allow pets.”

“Oh. OK, well. Thank you.”

“Did you have a reservation?”

“No, I called and was told you had rooms available. But I have to find someplace else. Can't leave my dog.”

“Try the Hampton Inn, across the street.”

And so I did. With the dog in tow, I walked across Tyvola and went down a block to the Hampton Inn. I got us a room with no problem. As I walked, I wondered what the hell I was doing.
I don't like dogs. I can't take care of a dog.
And yet I was making accommodations for a dog?

“What's your name?” I asked stupidly. As if he was going to respond.

“OK, I'm going to give you one since you don't have a tag or collar,” I said, sitting on the bed. “Moses. That's your name, OK. Moses.”

The dog looked at me and was probably saying,
What's up with this dude?

“First thing I'm going to do is clean you up. You don't smell too fresh. Then I will find you some food…somehow.”

So I ran a warm bath for this dog and talked to it as I did. It seemed as if he was intently listening.

“I don't usually like dogs. And the only reason I can think of that I'm looking out for you is because I have a new appreciation for life. I'm going to die. I know—that's sad. But this…uh, diagnosis by the doctors has made me look at life differently, you know? I've been a good person, for the most part. But have I done enough? So you're a part of this whole thing I'm feeling. I can't let you wander around and get hit by a car or beat up by some big dog.”

This dog, I mean, Moses, eased his way over to me and rubbed his face against my pants leg. I was shocked and a bit scared.
Did Moses understand me?
Nah. No way. But he tried to comfort me—or so it seemed. Maybe he could tell through my inflection. Dogs have instincts, I had been told.

Anyway, I found myself, in less than an hour, going from feeling sorry for the dog to liking him. I didn't know, though, how he would react to a bath. All I ever saw were dogs resisting the water and making a mess.

I wasn't sure if regular body wash was OK for a dog, but I used it anyway. The tub was half-filled and here came the hard part. Getting him in it.

“OK, Moses, this is a test for us right here. I need you to get into this water without getting me soaked. It's going to be nice and warm. It will clean your wounds and you'll smell good. Then I'd feel like I can pet you. 'Cause nobody likes a stinky dog. OK?”

Moses just looked at me in those sorrowful eyes. He probably was saying,
Dude, you don't smell so good yourself.
And he probably thought:
Are you OK? You know you're talking to a dog, right?

But I didn't care. It felt strangely appropriate to me. So I tested the water. It was warm.

“Come on, Moses.”

The dog just sat there, looking at me. I took his look to mean,
If you want me in that water, you'd better put me in it.

And so, I smiled at him as I picked him up and eased his paws into the water, which I had doused with my body wash. He needed something with a scent. I think the bubbles in the tub distracted him enough for him to not understand what was happening.

But when his feet hit water, he squirmed, and I almost dropped him. But it was important for me to protect this dog, so I tightened my grip to keep him safe.

“Hey, you have to get into this bathtub. No joke.”

His expression changed, and I took it to mean,
OK, let's do it.

And I lowered Moses into that warm water and he stood almost neck high in it, never uttering a sound. I bathed that dog thoroughly but delicately, and he seemed to appreciate it.

I smiled at the strangeness of what was happening: I never had a dog as a kid, never wanted one, never liked dogs. And here I was, about an hour after finding a stray dog, had it in my hotel room, giving it a bath.
What was going on with me?

I looked at Moses as a possession I coveted. I needed to save his life. Was it because I was losing mine? Was it because I had helped saved the bus driver? There was, as Gene said, an exhilaration that came with that.

Whatever it was, I had a new best friend. I dried Moses off, wrapped him in a towel and placed him on the small chair in the room. “Stay here and relax for a while.” I chuckled to myself. I was sure this dog did not understand me but I felt compelled to speak to him as if he did. Crazy.

I called the front desk. “I need to get some dog food; is there a Walmart or grocery store nearby?”

The front desk clerk told me about a not-too-far Walmart. I wasn't sure if I should take the Moses with me, if the dog would be allowed in the store, so I called Uber and had a man-to-dog conversation with my pet.

“I'm going to get you some food and a leash and some water and vitamins and all the stuff you need to get healthy. OK? But I need you to stay here and relax. I'm going to turn the TV on. You probably want a cartoon or something, huh? Here, look: Here's the Cartoon Network. Don't tear up this place. Just relax. I will be back soon with goodies for you. OK?”

Moses' eyes were transfixed on me as I spoke, like he was trying to understand. I rubbed along his small back and backed my way to the door. “Be right back.”

I laughed at myself after I closed the door. I found it necessary to talk to a dog, as if he understood me. That was amusing. I waited for a minute before the Uber car arrived. On the way to Walmart, which was about ten minutes away, I received a call from Kathy.

“I've been thinking about you,” she said. “When I got home, I found out my husband and sons are not coming home tonight. So, I was thinking…”

“Thinking what?”

“I was thinking I could come and get you and we could do something. Or I could just come over there and spend some time with you.”

That put me in a dilemma. I wanted to see Kathy, but I had started looking forward to spending time with Moses. It was the weirdest thing. I felt a stronger sense to be with the dog than the woman.

“Kathy, after you dropped me off, this little dog came along. A stray dog. He looked lost and helpless. There aren't any homes over in that area, so I have no idea where he came from. But I ended up taking him with me.”

“What? You picked up a stray dog? And took him where?”

“Well, I had to change hotels because the one where you dropped me didn't allow pets.”

“So what are you telling me? You have a dog in your hotel room with you? Wait a minute…you hate dogs. I remember that.”

“That's why this is so weird. For some reason, this dog struck a nerve with me. I call him ‘Moses.' He's in my room now. I'm in an Uber headed to Walmart to get him food and a leash and other stuff.”

“You're going to keep this dog?”

“Yes. He's mine now.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for several seconds.

“Hello?”

“I'm here. I'm just shocked.”

“I'm more shocked than you, trust me. But for some reason I need to take care of this dog. I couldn't leave him on the streets. He looked a little battered, like a bigger dog had beaten him up. I gave him a bath. And—”

“You gave the dog a bath?”

“Yes. He smelled like a dog, so I shampooed him good and dried him off and he was great. He didn't squirm or fight. He enjoyed it. When I talk to this dog, he looks at me like he understands.”

“Oh my goodness. Did you walk him, too?”

“Oh, damn. I forgot about that. He probably has to go by now. I forgot. I hope he doesn't go in that room.”

“You can bet that he will.”

“That's the one thing I have no interest in doing—cleaning up after a dog. I barely like washing the dishes.”

“So I guess you're telling me you plan to spend the evening with a dog over me.” I knew it was coming. And I couldn't lie.

“That's what I'm going to do. Not because I prefer that. The dog needs me. He was stranded and had a look in his eyes that was fear. He's depending on me. I can't explain it.”

“I've heard it all now. I'm being rejected over a dog.”

“That's not true, Kathy. But this is something I have to do. I need to do this. Tonight, when I get settled, I will call and explain.”

“What possible explanation can you have, but OK.”

We arrived at Walmart and I made a beeline to the pet section after a worker told me where it was. I had a cart and I filled it up with Pedigree Complete Nutrition Dog Food, water (I had Googled the importance of water to a dog's diet), a black leash that was made of soft leather, a cushioned black-and-white ball and roped bone toy, a chrome dual bowl to put his water and snacks side-by-side, dog vitamins, two plush blankets for Moses to relax on and a pooper scooper.

I didn't even note how much it cost because I didn't care. I just wanted to have all needed to make Moses comfortable. My Uber driver waited for me. I didn't care about the cost.

I called my daughter on the way back to the hotel and told her about my new friend.

“Dad, you hate dogs. What's going on? You feel a need to save someone, anyone or anything after today with the bus? Is that it?”

“You're smart; I thought the same thing. I don't know. He looked so pitiful, so scared—but he came right to me. It was like he was communicating with me that if I didn't take him, he was going to die. I just couldn't leave him.”

“I will be in Atlanta on Monday. So I guess you're renting a car because I don't think you can take your dog on a bus.”

“Moses.”

“Huh?”

“His name is Moses.”

“Could you take a photo of Moses and text it to me, please? I don't think I will actually believe this until I see it.”

“Will do.”

We arrived at the hotel just as I finished my talk with my Maya. I tipped the driver twenty dollars. He was grateful. With my bags full of goodies for Moses, I slowly entered the room, not sure if it would be ravaged or stinky or both.

I couldn't believe what I saw. Moses was sitting right where I left him. He stood up in the chair when I entered, jumped down and scampered over to me as if he knew me and as if he had missed me. My heart sank.

“Hey, buddy. Told you I was coming back.”

I rubbed him as I spoke and his tail wagged. “Hey, let me get this leash on you so we can take a walk. I'm sure you have to go by now.”

It took a minute or so to get the leash around his neck and off we went to the side of the hotel, with pooper scooper and small plastic waste bag, where there was a small field. Moses walked around for a few minutes, sniffing the grass until he found a spot to claim his own. And he peed.

I turned my head. I wanted him to have some privacy. When he finished, I felt a tug on the leash. By then, it was after eleven o'clock. There was no place in the field for him to run off to, so I let him off the leash so he could bounce around.

Moses could not have been but maybe three or four months old. He had a beautiful brown coat. He was smaller than he should have been, I figured, but the way he ran around that space told me he liked to enjoy life. When he ventured about twenty-five feet from me, I squatted and called for him.