Dante the Dog Whisperer

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On the way to work, a dog runs in front of my car on a busy street.  This is not unusual in Detroit.

I can see it running frantically from side to side of the road, trying to get away from the cars.  People slow down, and go carefully around, but it will surely get hit in a minute.  Putting on my flashers, I open the car door and call to the dog, wondering what in the world to do if it comes.  Put her in the car and then what?  A collarless dog, roaming around my office all day?  An unwanted gift for my allergic husband?”

The dog runs around the corner, and I make a u-turn and follow.  A young gentleman in a battered jeep, music thumping, does the same.  Rooting around in my trunk, I find a box of dog biscuits left from a long-ago dog walking job.  Embarrassing, but handy.  I take a handful and offer him the box.  He tosses them toward the dog, slowly, one at a time.  We try to coax the dog toward us.

“I was afraid she was going to get hit,” I tell him.

“Yeah,” he offers, “I saw one car hit her already.”

By now, he has the dog in front of him.  She rolls over hopefully.  As we rub her belly, we can see scrapes and bloody spots.  After we play with her for a while, I ask, “Do you have a collar?”

“No, I’ll just pick her up.”  He does just that, and I walk in front of him to open the door of his car, still running, music still playing.

“Can I take some more of those dog biscuits?” he asks.  “Of course” I tell him, and then say,  “I'm Mary,” extending my hand.  He smiles at me. “Dante,” he says, as he shakes my hand.  We grin at each other, and get back in our cars.

Now as I drive that way, I think about the things I wish I’d asked.  He had nice clothes on – was he going to work, his day now burdened with a bloody dog?  What did he end up doing with her?  What did the elegant calligraphy tattoo on his neck say?  And where did he learn to be so kind?

One of the things I love about Detroit is that anything can happen.  Any stranger can make your day – or ruin it.  Life is so fractured that things happen in the gaps.  The cracks of everyday life have endless possibilities for connection.  On the way to work now, I watch for Dante, curious to hear the end of the story.