I met this guy in the dog park who had two charming pitbulls he had rescued, like real rescues, not like me where I got my house-trained, much-loved, spoiled, designer mixed breed about two seconds after I saw his fat face posted on the shelter website.
No, he found one of them walking, abandoned, on the street, not knowing where he came from or how he would behave. The dog was an instant sweetheart, and the owner considered himself lucky. Then, a few months after that, because he was now known in the neighborhood for loving pits, a crackhead showed up on his front porch, knocked on the door, and tried to sell him another pit bull, this one scrawny and wobbly and sick. I never did hear whether or not he gave the guy money, but it doesn’t matter either way: now he has two playful, slobbering pitbulls. They were clearly well cared for, healthy, and funny, and sweet. I loved them both right away.
I asked him if he felt a lot happier now that he had these dogs. Two of them! They were a handful. They chased Sid around and he hid under the bench. He said, “Well I’m definitely a man with dogs now. Like they change your life.” There was an implication there that he had less time on his hands. He lit a cigarette. He was handsome and had tattoos. “I’ll tell you something. About a year ago I was dating this girl. I really loved her, but she had this dog, this huge dog, and he had slept in her bed forever, long before I came along. And we always used to fight about the dog being in bed with us, and I think it was one of the reasons we broke up. Like that dog came first, you know? Anyway, it took a week of this first guy living with me before he was sleeping in my bed. So.”
Sometimes you meet people who write a whole story for you within the first five minutes of talking and it’s not that you don’t need to know any more about them - there’s probably a million more stories there - it’s just that you want to say thank you for the one, because one good story is enough.