The Three-Legged Dog Who Chased After Love

 

March 3, 2021



copyright 2017 by Steve Sibra

(previously published in The Borfski Review)

On my way to make a courier pick-up at the airport I saw a three-legged dog on the side of the road. He had a sign in his mouth. I put on the brakes so I could get a better look.

“NEED RIDE TO THE AIRPORT”. Five words, written in large block style letters.

Now I had seen some strange things. But a three-legged hitchhiking dog with a handmade sign? I pulled over.

In the rear-view mirror, I saw the dog start my way. I noticed a man was stepping up alongside the dog – he had been standing by a nearby tree. The man was at most just an inch or two over five feet and wore a pork pie hat which looked almost brand new. The rest of his wardrobe looked shabby, as if it had come from the Good Will. The little man had a limp and walked with a cane.

I reached over, popped the door open and the dog leapt right in – even with the right leg gone on the back he had no trouble making the jump. His human companion had to struggle a bit but he pulled himself up. The man squared himself and buckled his seat belt. The dog hopped into his lap and turned his head away from me, looking out the window.

“Much obliged for the lift!” the man said with a grin. He had a thin fuzzy beard which rimmed his round face along the chin line. “My name is Hooper, and this is Roman Candle!” The dog turned his head my way, panted a couple of times, then turned back to the window.

“Where are you and your dog headed?” I asked. “Which airline do you need?” I pulled back out into traffic.

“Oh, Roman Candle is not my dog!” the man said. “In fact, I just met him this morning. Our destination, according to him, is Santa Fe.” Hooper checked a ticket he pulled from his pocket and then informed me regarding the airline.

I drove on for a bit without saying anything, thinking about what I had just been told. “You are delivering him for somebody?”

“Not really. He told me he needed an escort to deal with the airport details and other . . . complications, and he hired me on the spot!”

“Wait . . . he hired you?”

“Yes sir! And he paid me up front for my services. In cash no less. I really couldn’t refuse.” Hooper grinned and pulled a wad of twenty dollar bills out of his breast pocket, giving me a glimpse. I realized I was slowly swerving into the other lane and corrected just in time, horns honking.

“How exactly did he tell you this?” I wondered if I should have stopped after all. Picking up some hitchhiking kook was not the sort of liability my boss would be pleased about. The dog was still sitting on Hooper’s lap looking out the window.

“He just told me.”

“He spoke to you.”

“Absolutely. He accosted me on the sidewalk and explained his situation, and I could hardly refuse him. Especially with him being so generous. He included a round trip ticket for me with an open-ended return – he suggested I take a couple of days to enjoy Santa Fe, he says it is a magical place. And his circumstances tugged at my heart. Having no real obligations before me at this time, I was happy to assist him.”

“Will he talk to me now? Can he tell me what time his flight leaves?” I didn’t know whether to be amused or angry with my passenger.

“Oh, no doubt he could tell you that, but he is disinclined to talk to people unless he absolutely must. He asked me to do the talking. He also had me call ahead to the airlines, to make arrangements for a kennel which he will ride in to Santa Fe.”

“Why are you – I mean, why is Roman Candle going to Santa Fe?” I felt there was nothing to be gained by not playing along. The dog again glanced my way when I spoke his name.

Hooper leaned over as if to whisper a secret into my ear. “It’s about a girl,” he said with a knowing look. “She is his true love but they ended up parting ways, and now she is about to make a big mistake. She is planning to commit herself to someone who is terrible for her; a complete lout in fact.” Hooper hung his head and shook it slowly from side to side. “I think the grief has driven him over the edge,” he confided. “I am not sure he is thinking clearly.”

I could think of no suitable response. In a bit Hooper resumed speaking, still in a very quiet voice. The dog wasn’t paying any attention to either of us.

“He loves this girl so deeply – this girl dog I mean – he loves her so desperately that he cannot live with the idea of her bound to another. And her choice is terrible; he will not provide for her needs. No, he will abuse her and ignore her and just give her no respect at all. And she is such a wonderful creature. At least that is what Roman Candle says.”

Hooper cleared his throat but showed no signs of speaking again. “How is it,” I asked, “that you were able to get cash from this dog? I don’t see any pockets.” We were starting to pull into the airport departure drop-off area. I was keeping an eye out for the airline signage.

“See the pouch around his neck?” I had not noticed it before but Roman Candle had a small leather bag hanging from his collar. It had a snap holding it closed.

Hooper nodded his head. “I told him that wasn’t the safest place to carry his money but he just ignored me.” The man had no luggage with him at all. And the dog had only the small pouch with the snap.

I shook my head. I didn’t know what to say. I figured the man and his dog had enough trouble, without my two cents’ worth.

I saw the airline up ahead so I pulled into the “No Parking Passenger Drop-Off Area Only” lane and came to a stop just in front of the big sign.

“Well,” I said, “I wish you and Roman Candle the best of luck. I hope things work out for you both.” Hooper opened the door and the dog hopped out, then sat at attention on the curb, waiting for the man. With some difficulty Hooper climbed down from the van seat, grabbed his cane and reached to shake my hand. He smiled and said “Thank you so much for all your help.”

“Not a problem. Oh, by the way,” I said as the pair of them began to walk away. “How exactly did Roman Candle lose his leg?”

At that the dog stopped. He turned back towards the open van door, trotted over, and stood up on his lone hind leg with his front legs on the rocker panel. As I watched he bent his neck low, grabbed the little pouch flap with his teeth, gave a quick yank and popped the little bag open. He reached into the bag with his mouth and removed a small, folded piece of paper. Tipping his head back, he looked up at me, paper clenched in his teeth. He stared, motionless, waiting for me to take the note.

I hesitated. Then I leaned over and reached down. The little dog dropped the note into my palm.

I unfolded it and read the five words stenciled on the paper. As I did so the dog made an odd motion with his head, pushed his nose down to refasten the snap on the pouch, and hopped back down to the curb. With a tip of his pork pie hat, Hooper started walking towards the airline door. Roman Candle hopped along at his side.

I stared at the pair of them as they moved away from me. I wondered how many drivers before me had passed by this odd pair on the edge of the road. Then I looked once again at the note which the dog had put in my hand.

There were five words, in large, block-style lettering. “I WAS BORN THIS WAY,” it said.

 
 

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