I found him on a Tuesday evening as I was walking home from work. He was lying next to the wheelie binssoaked, skin and bones, shaking like a leaf. I just couldnt walk past and leave him there. I crouched down, chatted to him quietly, and he just gave me a little wag of his tail, almost begging for a bit of kindness. So I scooped him up, carried him home, and dried him off with an old towel. I had no idea the stir it would cause.
By the very next day, the comments had started. One neighbour said,
“Hope that dogs not aggressive.”
Someone else piped up, almost shouting, “People will pick up anything these days!”
But the real kicker was when the building manager knocked on my door and told me that a few residents were concerned that the dogs ruining the look of the place. I actually laughed in disbelief. The look of the place? Hes a living, breathing soul, not a rug.
Later, a neighbour muttered, “No wonder the estate looks rough these days.”
A couple of others grumbled because the dog barked onceonly because some motorbike roared right by us. And every time I took him out for a walk, youd hear windows slamming shut. As if I was dragging the plague around with me.
One afternoon, while I was walking him, a woman came up and said the dog was going to bring in fleas and that I should really take him back where he came from. I asked her what exactly that meant, and she just shrugged, like the life of an animal was nothing but a minor inconvenience that should be dealt with.
Things got even worse when I started finding unsigned notes stuck to my door:
“This dog doesnt belong here.”
“Think of the rest of us.”
“This is a quiet area.”
They even accused me of “turning the flats into a shelter.”
But the truth was, the dog wasnt bothering anyone. All he did was eat, sleep, and gaze up at me with those grateful eyes no one else seemed to notice. I took him to the vet, bathed him, fed him. Every single day he looked better, got stronger, more peaceful. But still, everyone insisted on casting me as the villain in the neighbourhood.
One bloke even went around telling people I was disturbing the peace of the community.
Strangely though, when he saw my daughter playing with the dog, he changed his tune: “Oh, well thats alright then.”
And thats when it hit methe problem was never really the dog. The problem was people who think anything that doesnt fit into their neat little idea of perfect should just be wiped away. Double standards at their finest.
Today, the dogs still with me. His names Max. Hes filled out, his eyes are bright, and he finally sleeps soundly, not startled by every little sound. The neighbours might still shoot me dirty looks, but they dont say anything now.
But honestly? Id take all their judgemental glares a thousand times over if it means not leaving a helpless animal to die alone on the street.
