My Iditarod

My neighborhood as a child was never a very welcoming place.

My bike went missing out of the shed, and after searching the neighborhood for it, I found it was stolen and stripped for parts behind a parking garage.

The forest behind the townhouse was chock-full of poison Ivy, but I went in anyway. I complained for weeks.

It seemed that everyone on the block was a douche, and never missed the opportunity to call me “Hey, dork with the glasses.” and question my sexual preference.

I fell down the grass hill on my tricycle and hit my head on the pavement below, giving me a tangle of hair that resembled Christmas. Red from blood, green from grass-stains, and a hint of gold from my barely visible blonde hair.

But I suppose you’re done hearing about my childhood. It’s not as dramatic as I write it out to be— so I’m done. Sorry.

I saw a dog. A huge, beautiful, white/brown Alaskan Husky.
Just walking around my neighborhood.
He was causing quite a commotion, though. He was untagged and unleashed, so — of course — parents became concerned for their children. Hell, I would’ve been concerned too. Many parents kept their children indoors, including mine.

I had no problem staying indoors, because that’s what I normally chose to do anyway. I guess it was a good thing. A little girl was practically mauled by this seemingly harmless dog. He could have trampled her; he could have snapped her neck off. Instead he jumped on her and promptly escaped from the clutches of instinctive parent/guardians.
But this never was a very welcoming place. I played Nintendo.

The weekend passed, kids and families trickled outdoors. To barbeque, to swing [on the swing-set], to enjoy the semi-fresh air. I stayed indoors; there was no need for me to leave. There was no sign of the husky.

Monday descended. Oh, the joy of walking through this trash neighborhood every morning. Watching the pitiful raccoons snoop through the neighborhood dumpster and the innocent beach toys tossed about on the neighborhood grass. I walked up the neighborhood hill to come face to face with the most beautiful creature I have seen as of yet.

A huge, beautiful, white/brown Alaskan Husky.
I smiled at it and continued my neighborhood walk. It followed.
I kept checking my back to see if it was still there, and it always was.
Five meters behind me.
Never once did it pounce, never once did it growl.
It sat and waited beside me for my bus to come.
I felt no fear, no anxiety, no worries, and no revenge.
Just the warmth of the animal, and the cool of its tongue.
Our time together is everything I've ever wanted.

And as my bus rode away, I watched as the animal dashed down the street.
I miss her.

7/1/08