Homeless Man Fed The Dogs
The public never got to know him. Until one day he never came. Instead, a gathering took place. Socially abandoned souls like himself, who lived on the streets. Old, young, the physically handicapped or perhaps wounded in mind and soul, they arrived to stand together. The part that caught the eye, was that most of the people had a dog. There was a wide assortment of well mannered dogs, who looked far more healthy than their owners. The group had come to mourn and talk about, their friend, the man who fed the dogs.
He had about him a look of poverty. Second hand ragged clothes, poor teeth, greasy hair, plus he wasn’t the best smelling man in town. He stood every day at the entrance to a busy mall strumming an old guitar, while he sang in a raspy voice. He would place his old cowboy hat on the ground, mutely asking for donations. Some threw pennies in, others were more generous, occasionally he would be gifted with a ten or twenty dollar bill. To all, he mumbled his thank you, always followed with a warm, “God Bless You.”
He was a street musician, a busker. It was a common assumption that he had to be a drunkard or a drug user. He was neither. At one time, he had been a teacher, a moral man
who went to church, a good husband and father. He was respected by his peers. One ordinary day, crossing a street, a drunk driver slammed into him, throwing him high into he air. He lost his live, as he had known it, on that day.
Mentally challenged, his life changed. He lost his job, his wife and children. Home, cars, ease of living, gone. Not able to function in society, he eventually ended up on the streets where he made a life of sorts for himself. He also found cast offs of another kind. Dog’s who were the most part unwanted. While the people could usually find food for themselves, the dogs must eat as well.
And so he began. A beat up guitar picked out of the garbage. His shattered mind could only remember two songs. He picked a spot in front of a huge mall, where he offered his music for spare change. It was to become his life for many years.
The money he earned went to feed dogs. He never slept if he heard that a new dog had been spotted, hungry or afraid. It was uncanny, how those dogs would walk up to him, then bury their head in his huge hands. A few lay at his feet while he entertained. Most stayed out of sight of the public while he worked, then joyfully mobbed him when he entered the dark alleys at night.
The man was not comfortable speaking to people. But with his dogs, he became a whole man again. He laughed, played games, taught them lessons, working with them to be the best dog they could be. He never lifted his voice, or hit an animal. Rather, he would hold the dogs head between his hands, put his forehead on the dogs head and murmur softly to it. Dogs of all sizes, tough dogs or small ones that needed to be held close, it was all the same. The man was blessed with a kind loving heart. He became the guardian of stray dogs, that likely would have died, unloved, untaught, unfed, if not for his commitment.
One night, he rolled into his blankets to sleep. Several dogs lay around him to guard him. He never asked that the dogs protect him, the animals did this on their own. On this night they were uneasy. In the darkest part of the night, they began to howl. In morning’s light, the street people found him. He had been taken from them, into the gentle care of angels.
They gathered where he had played his music. Bitter tears, confusion, anger and great despair. A quiet hero was gone. Who would feed the dogs now?
It began slowly. In the same place, every day. Someone, with a dog would stand, playing the man’s guitar while they sang. They used the old cowboy hat as he did, for kind hearted folks to toss offerings in. Along with the money, now people brought bags of dog food, blankets, even dog treats. They took the time to pat the dog, smiled at the singer and no one ever left without hearing, “God Bless You.”
