If you want a friend, get a dog.

There was a moment of quiet in the horrible room. Just us. The caged. Why bother to bark. No one there to bark at.

What nonsense of that old statement attributed to Who Knows Who, "If you want a friend, get a man."

But the door opened. And another one of those gawkers made a hesitating entrance.

The cacophony immediately erupted. Even for me it was deafening. I just wanted to die.

The gawker gawked. Then moved on, somewhere behind where I could see. I could hear the ruckus in that other area.

I am still haunted by what happened. I try to forget. And I do. Until that gawker showed up.

The escape. Mercifully. The escape.

The running. And running. Running in places I had never been. Yet it all still looked so familiar. Rows of big things. Doors. And shinny things arranged outside.

I could hear my kind. But I ignored them. I needed to get away.

I don't know how it happened. Trapped I guess, because I didn't know the terrain. Scooped up. I didn't bite. That is not me. He didn't hurt me. Biting him would only make it worse.

"Drop Off." I suppose that is what it said on the door. I was carried through it. The smells. The sounds. The bright lights. The confusion. I had no inkling as to what was happening. I was incapable of thinking of what would come next.

These past two weeks were horrible. Yes. I was "safe." I had chow. I had water. Somebody took me out on a leash. I peed on bushes. What was I supposed to do.

Then that day. I have no idea what happened. But when I groggily awakened, I ached and felt sick. I squirreled around to lick where it hurt. Stiff pieces of something sticking out of me. Going through me. And a pain I have never felt before. Somehow I sensed that I had been changed.

Dogs arrived.

Dogs left.

I am alone in a maze of confusion.

I have no expectations. That is something beyond my capability. I have only fears. I don't want to be hurt again.

It is quiet again where I am. Yet I hear the barking from somewhere behind me. I try to forget the past. To forget the present. The future I know nothing about.

The gawker returns. The yapping starts all over again. I can't see any of them. Just hear them. Hear their frustration. I understand their language.

And then.

The gawker stares at me. That stare. Those eyes.

Why does he look at me like that.

I have seen that image before. I was hurt by that image.

Don't look at me.

Don't come to me.

I must ignore him. Make myself invisible to him. No matter what, I can't deal with that part of my past all over again.

The gawker leaves. The quiet returns.

In a few minutes, a volunteer returns. Opens my cage. Pulls me out. Takes me down a hallway. Sets my on a counter.

The gawker is there. He stares at me. Leans over and whispers to me.

I fear him. But not enough to bite. He hasn't hurt me. Yet.

He holds me. Rubs my jowls with the back of his hand. It doesn't hurt.

In a few minutes he picks me up and takes me outside. Places me in this hot confined space. I make a dash for the back, to get as far from him as possible.

I have been in a car before. It has always involved anguish.

When it stops, the gawker opens the rear door. I cower away from him, but he reaches me and picks me up. But he touches that sensitive place with the stiff things sticking out. I yelp, squirrel around to get his hand away from me. I don't want to hurt him. But I don't want to be hurt either.

The gawker realizes for the first time, the incision from his loss of doghood.

He sets me on the ground. I start to run. But there is a rose bush right there. I stop. Lift my leg. Mark the spot. And soak it.

The next thing I know I am taken into a room. I want to hide. There is a chair. I cower there. Must survey the area. What all is there that will hurt me.

Then the old lady sees me. Loud words about something. But her voice is one I can trust. I have heard that kind of voice before. I felt safe with that voice.

In time the old lady sat down. In desperation for security I run, climb into her lap. She holds me. Her hands are cold, but soft.

The next hours are chaotic. I escape. Want to run as far and as fast as I can. But three people are cornering me. The old woman stomps on my trailing leash.

The chow is good. I had heard stories about that Beneful stuff...how good it was, and good for me. The water was good too. The cat just stared at me, then ignored me. I have had my run-ins with cats. I know my place.

I spend the night curled up in what smells like the cat's bed on the old woman's bed. I feel safe.

But the gawker, I still don't trust. Yes, he touches me. He whispers to me. He holds me. I don't fight him, but I run from him if he gets up. He calls for me, but I refuse to go to him. I have been hurt before.

The old woman left this afternoon. I was left alone with the gawker. He gave me a rawhide chew. And a little snuggly toy. I know what to do with those.

I jumped up on the end of the sofa to see out the window. Where did the old woman go? And the gawker came and sat beside me.

He coaxed me into his lap. I let him.

He touched me. Firm, soft, gentle, soothing. And he whispered to me. Asked me about what had happened. I can't tell him. How could he understand? But he didn't hurt me. Maybe...he won't hurt me.

We both dropped off into a nap.

Then some time together outside. They have a nice creek beside the house. It seems safe. I lie in the grass.

After awhile he leads me back into the house. I now readily follow. There is slack in the leash.

The gawker sits at his desk. I hear repetitive noises . I have no idea what a keyboard is.

But I do lie down in the well of his desk. I can stare up at him. He reaches down and massages my ears. Then my neck. Then my shoulders.

I don't run from him with my tail between my legs like yesterday.

His touch. His voice. He is not going to hurt me.

I will let him believe that old statement attributed to Who Knows Who, "If you want a friend, get a dog."

The Refectory Manager's Dog