Homeless Bums Rally to Save Dog

April 22, 2001 Big City,USA

While visiting a big city this weekend, I spotted a little dog running in the street.

I went after him, thinking, Ha! don't worry, we'll save you!  Last week's stories about the hundreds of samaritans in Brunswick, Lafayette and Rockford were still fresh in my mind.

But as it turns out, not every city is as altruistic as all that.  The citizens of this particular metropolis seemed more interested in gawking at the spectacle, rather than joining in.  

(I'll refrain from naming the city, because I wouldn't want to offend the dog-lovers who do live there, both of them.)

The dog was a light-brown boxer, but he looked a lot like [what most people consider to be] a pit bull.  Now, this particular city I know has a policy of euthanizing all pit bull strays, so between the cars and the dog-catchers, the little guy needed help.

Editor's note: I'm willing to bet that your own city has a similar anti-pit bull decree or other breed-specific legislation.  To find out, click here(USA) or here(international).

After chasing him past dozens of befuddled spectators, I realized that I could never keep up on foot, so I ran back to the room, strapped on the rollerblades, grabbed a leash and a hot dog (for him, not for me), and flew out the door.  I decided not to wear the cape this time.

What happened next was rather bizarre.  Although the pedestrians and certainly the motorists were of no help, I found that there was a small legion of homeless "bums" who answered the call to arms!

At almost every street corner, there would be some disheveled, destitute or drunken vagrant pointing an arm in the direction the dog went.  Many of them I even saw making a lunge into the street to grab the pooch.  Encouraged and aided by these strange people, I kicked into turbo-mode and almost caught up with the dog.

Suddenly I had a strange and violent urge to find out what the pavement smells like.

I looked around to see what it was that made me wipe out and saw that my left skate was missing its front two wheels.  Niiiice.  Only then I remembered how I'd been in the process of changing my wheels last night, when Gilligan's Island came on, and I forgot to put all the screws back.

So now here's me with a hot dog in one hand, an empty leash in the other hand, and for the most part, trying to skate down 10th street on one foot.  I wish I had a camera.

But I managed to keep up with the little fur-ball until he led me down "Crater Mountain", a nearly-45-degree, concrete obstacle course that someone really should have marked with a double black diamond.

Somewhere around that area, I lost him.  By this time I was back in the upscale part of town, and there weren't any bums to help with the search.

I rolled up to the front of a large art-museum and asked the guard if he'd seen the dog.  Our conversation went something like this:

ME: Have you seen a dog go by here?

GUARD: You can't skate here.

ME: I'm looking for a dog.

GUARD: You can't skate here.

ME: Parlez-vous français?  Je cherche un chien.

GUARD: You can't skate here.

ME: Habla español? Estoy buscando un perro.

GUARD: You can't skate here.

ME: Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Ich suche nach einem Hund.

GUARD: You can't skate here.

Not knowing any other useful phrases, I gave up and left.  I never found the dog,  but as far as I could tell, he was heading north.

Good luck, little guy.  I hope you make it to Brunswick.

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