Misguided Mutt

“Now I really don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” she explains, raising her hands in the air. “I don’t want to hurt the dog. I have no intentions of feeding it or keeping it. You see, I don’t want this stray.”

Between her and the man, sits a shaggy mix, his fur matted, eyes clear and focused, and his tail wags gently. He whines lowly. She backs away slightly.

“I don’t want him to follow me home. I don’t want him to think I want to keep him.” She is honest when she says this, her eyes deep and sincere. The stray should stay put and wait for someone else.

The man nods and agrees, “If you can’t keep him, don’t pet him, least he get the wrong idea. Go home immediately and show no sympathy to the stray. Someone else will certainly pick him up.”

The dog watches the pair, his head tilted. One ear stands and the other flops, giving him a baffled expression. In the moment, he is just too cute; the woman laughs then offers him a slight pat on the head.

“I am afraid I can’t take you home,” she says tenderly but sternly, letting her hand slip under his chin to scratch.

The dog sighs happily. After a moment he rolls over, but she does not pat his belly, instead she stands and begins to walk away. Alarmed, the dog follows her, at first his steps uncertain. She glances back, and does not glare nor smile. Decidedly, she turns back around and continues onward, cold shouldering the dog.

For the first mile, the dog follows along, his tail wagging tentatively any time there is a falter in her stride. However, the woman never turns around. Slowly his head begins to move downward, his shoulders hunching up, his feet slowing. It is becoming apparent that the women does not want him, and knowing this, he resigns to sit in the street where he is and continue his wait. Then, just as he stops walking, she is facing him again, a sad smile on her face. Unsure, he wags his tail. The woman shakes her head, but does not resume her walk. Instead, she crosses back to him to stroke his ears.

“Listen, you,” she says, trying to be firm but her voice takes on a sweet edge. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. You should stay here, I can’t keep you.”

But, the dog doesn’t understand. He is encouraged by her touch and so, when she turns to walk away again, the dog follows, running at her side and yipping excitedly. She laughs, the sound warm and welcoming.

“You silly creature. Be gone will you? I have no place at home for you.”

For the next mile, though she does not speak or pet the dog, she continuously looks back to see if he is following, frowning at each interval and shaking her head. The dog doesn’t think much of it, far she has stopped for him once and that is all he needs. The miles press on and soon they have traveled three. The dog is slowly tiring, and once again becomes nervous so he runs to her side and licks her hand. Her eyes drift down to him, her lips pursed at first but they melt away to a smile.

“Look at you, you silly beast. Do stop following me, please?” She pauses to kneel before him, careful not to place her skirt in any mud. He whines and nuzzles her. Batting him away she chides, “Don’t do that.”

Then, as his brown eyes meet hers, she lets out a heavy sigh and leans down to press her forehead against his, wrapping her arms around his bony back.

“I am so sorry my dear little friend. But, I just can’t keep you.”

After a moment, she resumes walking, surprised to find the dog right at her side, almost pressed against her leg. He has found a person he will be loyal to. He has found a home. His tail sings little melodies as it swishes back and forth. The women is unsure of what to do. She can’t seem to get the mutt to leave her alone, and just as she is about to scream in frustration, the man appears again.

“Ah!” she cries out, rushing toward him. “Look!” she exclaims, pointing to the dog in exasperation. “The stupid beast won’t leave my side.”

The man crosses his arms and his lips pull his face down. A moment of silence stretches between them, seeming as endless a spring field.

“Well, what shall you do?” he asks at last.

“I don’t rightly know,” the woman begins, blubbering. Tiny tears slip down her cheek. “I don’t wish to hurt the dog. I’ve been trying not to give him the wrong idea. Truly, I have. The idea of causing him pain just breaks my heart. I have fretted so at the sight of him following me.”

“So kick him, one swift blow and he shall understand and leave at once,” the man suggests. The women looks alarmed and gasps.

“I could never. That would inflict such a terrible pain. I’ll just avoid looking at him on and pray he gets the idea before we reach home.”

The man shifts his weight and turns his black eyes to her, compassion drained from them.

“Will it not hurt the beast more to guide it to your house, to give it miles to walk and tread as its hope and yearning for a home grows, only to have the door slam into its face? Will that not be more painful than a kick now? This false hope you create? Far then the beast will be tired and his hope in tatters as he is left in the cold to starve. Tell me, which is a crueler fate?”

“But I don’t wish to hurt him!” the woman wails.

“Then you should never have petted the dog!” the man thunders back. “You say you do not wish to encourage the beast yet do just that! You only wish to pick the option that is easiest for you, not best for the dog. Now kick him good and hard, then make haste home.”

Upon those words, the man turns and strides off. The dog looks up at the woman, unsettled by the display. Huffing, he lies at her feet, placing his head on his paws as his tail wags softly. Then, he looks up at her, his happy brown eyes asking, ‘what’s next?’

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We have all been there, where we are the dog or the woman. In situations where we find ourselves unable to be upfront and thus hurting someone more later on. Or, mislead by someone's actions only to find out their unvoiced intent or desires later. Friends who were our friends just because they did not have the stomach to leave us alone. Parents making promises they could not keep, then surprised at their child's tantrum later.

Of course, there are much more alarming versions of this, where a person clearly states what they want, but the other person interprets it how they wish. In relation to someone not taking no for an answer because you are smiling or being friendly... This story is not meant to be a reference to that. I felt it worth stating, no means no.

This story is for the small nuisanced friendships that aren't really friends. For the empty promises of family members. For the couple that dates for too long because one is afraid to admit they no longer have feelings for the other. It's for the complex little dizzy parts of our life where neither person truly means to hurt the other.