Sara mentioned how there’s a large part of Bolivar Peninsula referred to as Zoo Beach. Vehicles are allowed on the sand, as well as golf carts, so it’s constant traffic and a constant party.
The area where Sara lives still sees some of that traffic, but it isn’t nearly as busy as certain parts of the peninsula. But just a couple miles down from Sara’s house begins a whole different world. Not necessarily a better one. I guess that would depend on the mood you’re in, but my mood right now certainly isn’t loud music and toxic masculinity.
I turn around to walk back before I get too far into the crowded area. There are a couple of guys sitting on the back of their truck, coaxing a dog over with a hamburger.
The dog’s ribcage is visible through his fur. I watch as the dog slowly makes its way toward the two guys in the back of the truck, as if he knows there’s a price he’ll have to pay for the food he’s about to get.
I immediately empathize with the dog.
“That’s it,” one of the guys says, holding his hamburger out. “Just a little closer.”
When the dog is within reach of him, the guy pulls his food away and the other guy quickly steps over the dog and captures it between his knees. They’re laughing as he pulls a headband over the dog’s eyes and lets him loose. The dog begins to stumble around, unable to see.
I rush over to the dog as he tries to claw the headband off with his foot. I remove it from around his head and he looks up at me, scared, then scurries off.
“Come on!” one of the guys says. “We’re just having fun with him.”
I throw the headband at them. “Stupid fucks.” The dog is running away now. I walk over and grab the hamburger out of the guy’s hand and follow after the dog.
“Bitch,” I hear one of them mutter.
I walk back in the direction I came from, away from the crowd and toward the dog. The poor thing hides behind a blue trash can and hunkers down. I walk slowly toward him until I’m a few feet away and then I gently toss the burger in his direction.
The dog sniffs it for a second, and then begins eating it. I continue walking, angry now. I don’t understand humans sometimes. I hate it, because I find myself wishing that the entirety of humanity would suffer just a tiny amount more than they do. Maybe if everyone tasted a bit of what that dog has lived through, they would be more hesitant to be assholes.
I’m halfway home before I realize the dog has been following me. He must think I have more burgers.
I stop and the dog stops.
We stare each other down, sizing one another up.
“I don’t have any more food.”
I start walking again, and the dog continues to follow me. Every now and then he’ll get sidetracked by something, but then he’ll look up and find me and run to catch up with me. He’s still on my heels when I finally reach the house.
I’m positive I’m not allowed to take a dog this filthy inside with me, but I can at least get him some food. When I reach the bottom steps, I turn and point at him. “Stay.”
The dog sits right where I point. It surprises me. At least he listens well.
I grab some slices of turkey out of the refrigerator and make a bowl of water and take it down to the dog. I sit on the bottom step and rub his head while he eats. I don’t know if feeding him here at the house is a bad move. He’ll probably hang around now that I’ve fed him, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I could use the company of something that doesn’t judge me.
“Beyah!”
The dog’s ears perk up at the sound of my name. I look up and around, trying to locate the person who just yelled, but I don’t see anyone.
“Up here!”
I look at the house catty-cornered to this one on the second row behind a vacant beachfront lot. There’s a guy standing on the edge of an extremely high roof. He’s so high up, it takes me a few seconds before I realize the guy is Samson.
He waves me over, and like an idiot, I look around to make sure he’s talking to me, even though he specifically said my name.
“Come here!” he yells.
Samson is shirtless. I feel as pathetic and as hungry as this dog when I immediately stand up.
I look down at the dog. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”
As soon as I start to walk across the street, the dog follows me.
I walk into the yard that contains the house Samson is standing on top of. He’s dangerously close to the edge of the roof now, looking down. “Take the stairs to the front door. Then take the first door on the left in the hallway. It leads to the roof access. I want to show you something.”