A Noble Story

I did that dog rescue thing and got myself a dog. A scrounge-y, mongrel-ey mutt of a creature. I found it in the last cage next to the shelter’s euthanasia station. It lay there, lifeless, but for its pleading eyes that surveyed every would-be savior passing it by.

I paused at its cage. I’d never seen a more pitiful animal; like road kill still breathing.

“You,” I said softly, “how’d you like to come home with me?”

The dog cocked its ears at the sound of my voice, otherwise any evidence of energy seemed depleted from its small body. I recognized it was in a wasting state. I know the feeling. To be rescued from a world where nobody wants you and sheltered in the safety of a new world, where nobody wants you.

“You’re coming home with me,” I whispered.

“I don’t recommend that,” said the attendant close by who was removing animal ash from the oven.

“The dog is feral.”

“Feral? How’s that?”

“He was found in a mailbox. Attacked the postal worker as soon as he opened the door. We had a hell of a time getting him out of there. Had to sedate him right there on site.”

“The dog or the postal worker?”

She laughed. “Both, I believe.”

She explained the details of the capture adding the dog was too far gone to be domesticated. Whatever abuses it had been put through, which she suspected included intense training for the underground, to-the-death dog fight circuit, there was no bringing it back. “He’s got unredeemable behavioral problems.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I took him home and named him Noble for he appeared to me to be a dog with the lived experience of the first noble truth—a soulmate. However, the attendant was right. Noble was not easy to domesticate.

It took 6 days and 6 nights to coax him out from beneath the sofa. Each day, I moved his food and water a bit more out from under until he had to appear full-bodied to eat. I kept my distance but always kept my presence within his field of vision, and Noble kept one eye on me while eating.

During that first week, coming home from a day’s work, I’d find evidence Noble was familiarizing himself with my condo. He’d established his own private bathroom beneath the Steinway. I appreciated his sense of hygiene. Dog hair on top of the window seat had me imagining he spent time gazing out the breakfast window.

On a day when I came home for lunch, I found him sniffing about the book shelves. He was startled. He crouched down, bared his teeth and growled. I immediately crouched down and growled back, then swiftly stood and said, “We’re in this for the long haul. Get used to it.” I sensed his confusion. I slowly backed out the front door, gently closed it, waited a moment, reentered to find Noble had safely tucked himself back beneath the sofa.

Such was our first week of companionship. On day seven, Noble lingered at his food bowl which he emptied with a ravenous appetite. “You want more?” He stood his ground looking at me, not with those big, brown, pleading eyes but with that what the hell do you think sort of look. I was pleased. The dog was showing some gumption. He was plumping up. He had energy. It appeared his spirit had been sparked.

“Ok, ok. Sit tight, Cujo.”

When I returned with his food he was peeking out from beneath the sofa. I sat at the table across the room, opened the Sunday paper and pretended to pay no attention. He allowed that much closeness to come between us and he came out to eat. It was good. Day seven, a very good day.

During week two, I left his leash stretched out on the floor along with some chew toys and a teeth cleaning piece of faux raw hide. And, I resituated his food bowls in the breakfast room for knowing he would venture out there whenever I left for work. We were settling into a routine. We were genuinely tolerating each other.

Neighbors started asking questions, commenting on the dog in the window. There were only two complaints about the barking. Noble doesn’t bark all that much unless Fed Ex or Amazon or the postman shows up. Oh, and the sight of another dog turns Noble rabid.

On Sunday of the second week I decided to test drive Noble out of doors, but could I even get the leash on him? Surprisingly, yes, and during that move I lightly patted his head. “Good dog,” I said in that soothing, good-doggie voice people use. The entire gesture caused him to stiffen and growl. I growled back.

Normally it’s not a good idea to growl back at a dog who growls at you. Always best to keep your distance and let the dog initiate friendship. In this case, though, me and Noble were familiars. Whether I was his familiar or he mine, I wasn’t sure, but me growling back at him did cause him some sort of confusion. I sensed he expected me to behave in a particular way every time he growled and I perceived, or imagined, he was surprised when I did not. By the end of week three he was no longer growling at me. He was then expending every ounce of his new-found strength and energy on trying to break through the door and gnaw on the mailman.

It has been 12 years since Noble found me in that shelter. It was a time in my life when I needed rescuing. He finally grew to the fifteen-pound weight appropriate for a fox terrier ridgeback mix. He mellowed out, too, but he never lost his ferocity. Noble has small-dog complex and he will out-cujo Cujo should a bigger dog try to cross his path, or should some bi-pedal stranger so much as look cross-eyed at me.

I got lucky.

Artist’s statement

Author’s Statement: This story got its momentum from a conversation I overheard about impermanence, hanging on, letting go, loyalty, loss and grief which brought to mind the first noble truth of Buddhist philosophy: life is suffering. I endeavored to create a story capturing the essence of that truth.