THE OLD DOG ON THE END OF THE CHAIN

[maggot]

I find myself thinking about that old dog on the end of the chain. That's how I thought of him. I never knew his name. He lived behind the chain length fence on the corner of South Morris Street and Dresden Ave. I walked by there every day on my way to school and every afternoon on the way home, which if pocket change permitted, often involved a trek to Cotton's Gameroom, but I digress. The old dog at the end of the chain wasn't always on the chain. Sometimes he'd be sleeping in the yard under a big oak tree, and I'd try to get by without waking him. That seldom worked. The dull sound of my sneakers on the sidewalk or that pocket change already designated for the gameroom, jingled just enough to wake the old boy from his slumber and roaring to life he would come, charging the fence and me, beating a path as he ran back and forth, raising all kinds of heck with me. When he was on the chain he never barked, or even got up, but eyed me with a resolute sadness and I didn't know why at the time, but it made me feel guilty and somewhat ashamed. One day I walked by and the old dog at the end of the chain wasn't there, and neither was the chain. I never knew his owners. I never saw them, not even once and I never saw that dog again. About a month later I did see Mr. Mason, a local handyman type in those parts, with his pickup truck and trailer backed into the driveway of the house on the corner. I stopped to talk to him and asked what had happened to the people and the dog and he told me the man of the house had had a heart attack and his poor old wife was so upset she had to be institutionalized. I didn't know what that word meant then, but something about the way Mr. Mason said it, told me, I didn't want to experience it firsthand. Mr. Mason then told me he had to get back to work and I'd better get going or I'd be late to school and I laughed and said it's Saturday, there is no school. Nonetheless, he said he'd wasted enough daylight and that that trailer wasn't going to load itself. I replied, but what about the old dog on the end of chain ? He said, I don't know Son, he probably got taken to the pound, the couple had grown kids but they didn't want him. Will he live there ?, I asked. Mr. Mason looked uncomfortable and sighed and said, I reckon, they'll probably have to put him down.I was crushed. As kids do, I got over it, but for weeks and months afterwards, I thought about him. And then I didn't. A couple of years later that old house on the corner lot behind the chain length fence burnt to the ground and I thought about him again. It's some thirty years later and I find myself thinking and wondering about the old dog at the end of chain and why he carried on when he was off the chain and why he was silent when attached to it. Now I don't know, I don't know a lot of things, just like I didn't know what institutionalized meant, but maybe what I perceived as aggression from the dog was truly a lonely animal reaching out for companionship, because he had none. Maybe he was on the chain because of all his barking. Maybe he was silent because he knew that was the only way to get off of it. Life is a twisted cycle.