Friend?

 

 

“Your friend is here today," she said.

I’d hailed my neighbor a few seconds earlier from down the block, spying her going back into her yard after getting out of her car. We'd chatted before about her terrible barking dog going to stay with her ex.  That I didn't need to worry about being barked at anymore. Was the dog my 'friend'? I had never thought so, but evidently the woman did.

This morning, she hadn’t waved back, but was waiting for me as I approached her house, surrounded by a tall steel fence, shaded by overgrown palm trees, miscellaneous detritus scattered on the dead lawn: pieces of cloth, empty Dr. Pepper cans, newspapers, and dead twigs.

            As I come up to her house, my ‘friend’ starts into a frenzied barking.

            “Tasha! NO NO!”

            I pause. It seems my ‘friend’ isn’t that friendly.

            A tall regal looking man appears from behind the barking canine. “NO! NO! C’mere!”

            The dog continues to bark furiously at me. Snarling, showing her back gums and saliva covered sharp teeth.

Photo by Milan Krasula

            “She just acting like that cuz she behind the fence,” the man asserts.

            “Oh,” I say, backing up a little, but there’s little room for me on the sidewalk. “I guess that makes sense,” I offer.

            “Yeah, if she out there not behind the fence she don’t act like this.”

            The dog continues to bark and jump wildly from behind the fence. Then the man comes up onto the sidewalk, stands next to me, and lets the dog out! She runs up the street a few feet. “HEY! You git back here!” he commands.

            She stops, turns, and then trots back, tentatively.

            Then comes up to me, no longer barking. What do I do?

            “See, she okay now,” the man says. “I just had to make sure for myself. I been training her.”
            I nod. What about me? I yell in my head. Sure, you can check if your training has worked but don’t use me as your guinea pig!

            I stand very still. Tasha comes up and sniffs me. Is she my friend now?
            I don’t reach out to pet her though. Afraid she’ll bite me. I don’t need a dog bite on top of my still healing wrist!

            “You walk every day?” the woman asks, giving me a crooked half smile, her beady brown eyes staring into me.

            “Yeah, I try to. But I have to be careful not to fall down. I broke my wrist this summer.”

            “ME TOO!” She turns over her arm to display a scar just like mine running down the length of her arm.

            “Wow,” I murmur, thinking how the surgeon had told me it was a very common injury.

            The dog now backs away from me, retreating back to the man. “You see? She okay. She hear us talking here. Know we know each other.”

            I nod. Glancing down at the dog, who does seem to be listening.

            The man takes her by the collar and pulls her back behind the fence, shutting the gate. Tasha immediately reverts into her snarling, ferocious attack barking.

            I laugh nervously. “I guess we’re not friends yet.”

            “You are,” the man says. "Just not when she behind the fence. She got a job to do.”

            “Yes, I can see that.” I begin to walk away. “Y’all take care. Have a good day,” I call out. As I pass the yard, Tasha is rabid now. Jumping on the fence, snarling and biting the chain links.

            “TASHA! STOP THAT!” the woman calls out.

            I hurry down the block, the sound of barking echoing in the otherwise still sunny morning.

            Friends? I guess it depends on your definition of the word. For me, it’s someone who I can count on, enjoy spending time with, have loyalty toward.

            For Tasha?

            It’s someone she can devour for breakfast.

            Friend? You sure taste fine!