No Good Deed

I did my good deed for the day today. You’d think I’d be happy, satisfied, even fulfilled.

                But I’m not.

                I’m uncertain, regretful and second-guessing. And here’s why…

                I was out on a run, just started as a matter of fact, when I came to an intersection close to home. I saw a dog nearly struck by a car. Not the driver’s fault either, as this dog was casually walking right into traffic. I jogged toward it and in doing so noticed that the dog was some type of pit mix. Caramel with white colored streaks of fur throughout his coat. It had no leash. I also saw a woman just across the street pushing a stroller and minding another small child who was walking on his own a few feet in front of her.

                Whew, clearly this is her dog.

                “Hi, good day ma’am. That your dog?” I said so confidently it wasn’t even really a question. I can’t wait until she answers affirmatively so I can mention the dangers of having it off-leash around even light traffic.

                “No sir.”

                “Well you should have him on a l--”, Hang on, “Wait, what?”

                “It’s not my dog.” she repeated. “I’ve seen it before though,” she said fussing over the child in the stroller. “I know where he lives; I brought him back to his owner before. Guess he jumps the fence a lot.

                “Oh great.”  I smiled, a bit more relieved than before. I approached the dog and kneeled near him, taking care not to come too close, too fast. When I reached out my upturned palm, the dog’s head reeled backwards. “It’s okay boy. C‘mere.”

                The woman spoke as I tried to coax the dog out of the street, “Actually, if you look at his collar there’s an address printed on it. If I remember, his name’s ‘Lucky’.”

                “I knelt once more, and called the dog in a high sing-songy cadence; “Lucky, come here.” The dog padded towards me, and hopped onto the sidewalk. “Who’s a good boy?” The dog sat and held out his right forepaw. I didn’t want to leave him hanging.

                After we shook hands and Lucky had a moment to get comfortable with me, I reached down and inspected the dog’s collar. Sure enough there was an address and a phone number printed on the tag.

                “Ah, good phone number too.”

                The woman nodded, “Ya he gets out a lot from what they say.”

                Who talks about dogs getting out? They must’ve been a lull in that conversation.

                “Gotcha, do you know where this is exactly?” I said, referring to the address on the tag.

                “One block east, just on the other side of that street.” She pointed in an up-and-over gesture, as if she was demonstrating that it was beyond the closest set of houses.  

                “Cool, thanks.” I turned my attention from the woman to Lucky. “Do you wanna go home buddy?”

                The dog wagged his tail heavily, and seemed to begin marching in the right direction with no prompt needed from me. “Aww, you know where you’re going, huh buddy?”

                With that the dog picked up the pace as we crossed the intersection he had nearly been hit at a few minutes earlier. Before I knew it we were running together towards his home.

                We turned quickly into the subdivision where the street was located. I needed to signal Lucky to slow down, and then realized I wasn’t sure if the dog was trained, and even if he was trained what commands he knew. “Lucky, heel.” I tried to sound authoritative to the canine even if it was really a question. It didn’t work. The dog kept running. “Hey buddy, I need to check addresses here. Gimme a break.”

                I looked down and realized I had my fingers tucked under a choke chain the whole time. Regretfully, I had to give it a gentle tug so I might correct Lucky’s speed.  The dog slowed, but Lucky was still moving too fast. I began searching the address plates on the homes to match what was on Lucky’s collar. I found it hurriedly, and luckily, as it were.

2929 E Drury Lane…last house on the block.  

                It was slightly set away from the other homes, painted a dreary mismatch of stucco blues. Looking at it made me sad. I glanced down at Lucky who was not sad at all. We arrived at the door which was open to let the pending spring night’s cool air inside.

                Right before I rang the doorbell my curiosity got the better of me, I peered inside. The living room was open concept, barely furnished. From my view there was only a small brown leather couch, the looks of which matched the depressed paint colors outside. 

                I don’t have ESP, or Spidey-sense or any other mysterious precognizant powers. But, nevertheless I hesitated for some reason before ringing the bell.

                My mind jumped backward in time…

                I recalled the way Lucky had backed away from my hand. Had he been afraid I was going to beat him?

                I remembered what the women had said about Lucky presumably getting out all the time. Was the dog being mistreated?

                I suppose even while I was contemplating this my finger was subconsciously making its way to the doorbell.  Abruptly, the chime cut down my walk through the recent past.

                I waited, 10 seconds, 30 seconds. A minute.   

                “Hello?” I rang the doorbell again.

                After another half minute a man stumbled out from the near-dark of the hallway. His eyes were barely open and he had a beer in one hand. It appeared to be empty. Regardless the man tried to take a swig and looked surprised when he came up bare.

                The man who was Lucky’s apparent owner didn’t speak. So I offered the following, “Hi there I think I might’ve found something that belongs to you.” Ha, so clever.

                The man still didn’t even utter a Hello. I stepped back and checked the address, it was the right house.

                With much more methodic movement than was required, the man approached the screen door and pushed it open with a grunt. Lucky bolted inside. “Damn dog. Told ya stop jumpin’ that fuckin’ fence.”

                If the man wanted privacy, or if I had arrived at a bad time, this would’ve been the opportune moment to slam the security door in my face. But he didn’t. He just slumped away, as the screen door slipped closed on its own. I watched the owner and his dog walk directly to the sliding door that led into the backyard. The man opened it, Lucky bounded outside. As he did so, his paw caught the inside of a metal dish just outside the door. It overturned, clanging on the concrete below it. Whatever was in it was long gone. I did not see another bowl, empty or otherwise, from where I stood. Before the man drew the sliding door shut he pitched his beer bottle outside. I heard it shatter against what I assumed was the back porch.

                My heart sunk. I could only think about how in my effort to do the right thing, I had done the wrong one. They say that ‘No good deed goes unpunished.’ And in that moment I hoped that Lucky wasn’t going to be the one getting punished for my good deed.