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The next-door neighbor is doing some yard work, pruning the trees and shrubbery. I started bracing myself to make an approach about their dog. The dog has taken to moaning long and loud in the early mornings, a most piteous wailing. It hasn’t interfered with my sleep, as I am an early riser, but Father has complained. When I looked to see if I might be able to tell what is wrong with the dog, I noticed how filthy and disgusting the dog’s water container is, not to mention the empty food dish, empty who knows how many days.
Preparing for an opening to talk to the neighbor, I found and cleaned Bo’s old food dish, the double-dip blue one. Then it came. He was doing the bushes next to our yard, and I needed to collect our recycling bin anyway.
I asked, “Do you speak English?” and I am immediately stumped when he says no, but I press on, disbelieving that he doesn’t have some familiarity with the basics, as my request is a simple one, even if not entirely without its risks. As he was an older chap himself, perhaps around my age, I thought we could manage alright.
At first, I thought he was simply dumbfounded at my handing him this blue doggy dish. However, after he said that he is already using something and I finally made clear my concern about the dog only having dirty water to drink, I saw the flash of anger in his hot latin eyes. If I were any more clearly his inferior, or if we were only younger with our blood running hotter in our veins, I suspect he would have struck me. If we were European gentlemen in olden days, I am sure he would have challenged me to a duel on the spot, and seeing how horribly they treat that beautiful dog, I would have gladly accepted.
In the end, he brusquely hands me back the dish and waves me off like the annoying gnats of a summer evening. At least I tried, which should ease my conscience, if not the dog’s tough lot. I just hope I didn’t make matters worse. How I miss the Neumanns, that dear old couple.
Preparing for an opening to talk to the neighbor, I found and cleaned Bo’s old food dish, the double-dip blue one. Then it came. He was doing the bushes next to our yard, and I needed to collect our recycling bin anyway.
I asked, “Do you speak English?” and I am immediately stumped when he says no, but I press on, disbelieving that he doesn’t have some familiarity with the basics, as my request is a simple one, even if not entirely without its risks. As he was an older chap himself, perhaps around my age, I thought we could manage alright.
At first, I thought he was simply dumbfounded at my handing him this blue doggy dish. However, after he said that he is already using something and I finally made clear my concern about the dog only having dirty water to drink, I saw the flash of anger in his hot latin eyes. If I were any more clearly his inferior, or if we were only younger with our blood running hotter in our veins, I suspect he would have struck me. If we were European gentlemen in olden days, I am sure he would have challenged me to a duel on the spot, and seeing how horribly they treat that beautiful dog, I would have gladly accepted.
In the end, he brusquely hands me back the dish and waves me off like the annoying gnats of a summer evening. At least I tried, which should ease my conscience, if not the dog’s tough lot. I just hope I didn’t make matters worse. How I miss the Neumanns, that dear old couple.
