HOMELESS DOGS

I passed a professional homeless person again today. She’s staked out a corner at an intersection off the freeway that I take to go to the airport on a regular basis. She’s a celebrity of sorts. I’ve seen at least two feature stories including her in the last year. She lives with a couple other homeless folks outside the city. They sleep in a car. According to the story, they are ex-alcoholics. But she’s at her spot almost every morning before daylight, on her corner by the stop sign. She has a cardboard sign that asks for a handout because she’s out of work and needs help and “God Bless.”

Let me tell ya, she’s not out of work. She’s on duty on her corner regular as an insulin shot. She probably puts in more hours than the average consultant.

Did I mention she has a dog? She always has a dog with her. On cool winter mornings, his head is peeking out from under the nondescript blanket that she herself is wrapped in.

I used to think the dog was a ploy for sympathy. It would be a good one. Authors, movie producers, animal rights groups, and charities of all kinds have shamelessly used animals as a sympathy device.

But hers is not an easy life. Anybody who puts in 8 to 5, six days a week, knows that some mornings the drudgery can weigh you down. However, it makes it more bearable for most of us knowing we’ve got supper, the Barcalounger, sixty-four channels, and a clean warm bed waiting after we get off work. I’m not sure what she has waiting for her when she gets off work. I guess I don’t want to think about it.

After giving her a couple bucks the first few times I passed, I began to resent her. Go git a job. Show a little self-respect. Take some initiative, I thought.

But I have come to the conclusion that there are people in society who just don’t fit in. Where would she ever get a job? I wouldn’t hire her. Maybe she’s emotionally unstable, mentally dysfunctional, antisocial. Whatever she is, though, she isn’t lazy. Oh, sure, maybe she goes back to her hobo camp after a hard day’s begging and gripes about the cheapskates in their new BMWs with the windows rolled up. “One guy asked if I could change a five. Can you believe it! Ah, well, another day. Think I’ll have a diet pop and prop my feet up in front of the fire. Come here, ol’ dog.”

Of late, I no longer think the dog is a ploy. He’s probably her best friend—something, I suspect, she doesn’t have in abundance. For her, like a lot of us, her dog lends some kindness and comfort in an often unsympathetic world. The dog, in return, gets her love and protection.

Yup, she may be homeless, but her dog isn’t.