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No Name outside the Goose |
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RIP YoYo |
There used to be a town dog here. She was called, variously, Smiley and YoYo. She had originally been taken in by the local vet, but she wouldn't stay with anyone. She was fat and happy roaming from house to house, visiting and playing with her dog friends. For years, she seemed to sense when I was arriving and lie on my doorstep waiting for me.
More about Yo.
This year there is a new town dog, whose personality is very different. People feed her too, but she doesn't want to be free. She wants to belong to somebody. She gazes into your eyes and says, "Let me into your heart. I need a hearth and home." If you sit outside she will lie under your feet, hoping.
Yesterday I was returning from the PO and saw her alongside the road, about four miles from town, headed away. Perhaps she had given up on Thomasville. I thought she would be safer there than wandering along the highway, so I stopped in the middle of the macadam. No small thing on a road with no verge.
"Cmon, get in!" I opened the door. She ran across the highway and looked in, but she would not get in.
I went down the road a little further, and she ran after the truck. I stopped again and opened the door. I did not dare get out of the truck for fear of a logging truck barreling through right at the narrow bridge.
She hesitated. She would not jump in. I whistled; I cajoled. Nope.
As I pulled away, she chased after the truck again. I don't know if she made it back to town. Perhaps I'll find out today. The cafe is open, and she likes to hang around outside, looking at the customers and asking, "Does anyone need a dog?"