(Sunny's taking a week off from writing a piece for the blog, so instead I offer a good rerun. This column of hers was first published March 15, 2010.)
By Sunny Fry
There was a dog limping down the side of my road Friday, so skinny I could see her skeleton from my car, and limping so badly she nearly stumbled in front of another vehicle. I couldn’t stop because of traffic, but went home and grabbed Number 2 Son and a can of dog food. When we pulled up and whistled to her, she turned to look and gave a cautious, gentle wag of her tail.
The food was a big hit, and the smell from the empty can lured her into the back seat, though her poor paw was so sore she whined, tucked it under her, and just lay down on some rocks before she climbed in. Then a bath and another can of food and bowl of dry kibble. She found a safe-feeling cubbyhole at the foot of our stairs and slept the rest of Friday, rising only once for a nature call, and then spent Saturday, too, rising only to eat and process all that food and water. This morning she got up, and miraculously the soreness which made me fear she’d been hit by a car, and made her walk like Gollum with her right front paw splayed wildly to the side and hips all disjointed and weird, was gone.
She goes to the vet tomorrow, and I’ve already found her a home. She’s very sweet, but clearly not used to interacting with humans. She’s got a trace of stubborn in her – when she wants to meander down the driveway, there’s no convincing her to turn around, unless you’ve got food. She doesn’t know to respond when you whistle or snap your fingers. She remains cautious, but not nervous, and today she actually came over to get her head scratched and then lay down companionably at my feet while I worked. I suspect she was a deer dog, kennel raised, who got lost and walked, hungry, for a very, very long time, and very likely after having had a litter of pups on her first heat.
She reminded me of some thoughts I’ve had, sponsored by a radio show on the level of fear in the United States.
Fear is a useful emotion, and anger its component, and both are useful in that they are response to danger or threat, and urgent prompts to action. There’s a high level of both right now. Fear of change; fear that the institutions we trusted failed us so spectacularly; fear of instability; fear of loss. We don’t trust our leaders, and there’s ample evidence that we’re wise not to do so, at least not blindly. Worst of all, we don’t even trust each other, fearing that the “other” is either going to form armed vigilante groups and start shooting the place up, or conversely, is going to take over control of all our lives and property in some forced rendition of Brave New World. It causes people to say outrageous things; worse, it causes people to believe outrageous things, which only feeds the worst assumptions of everybody. The most ridiculous caricatures have people racing to conform to them.
What do you do when the fear is free-floating, amorphous, intangible? Real, and with real stimulus behind it, but with very little available by way of action to remove the threat? Real, but fed and fostered not only by those who also fear and are angry, but by those who profit by our fear and anger? Clearly, the United States is in a time of transition. It is scary. There are a lot of unknowns – and there are a lot of people seeking to profit from that fright.
But I remember years ago saying the Lord’s prayer, and reaching the part where it says, “Give us this day our daily bread,” and realizing that as much as I might have been worried about this bill or that job or another circumstance, however hard things had been, I had never been anywhere near starving in my entire life. It put things in perspective.
On a practical level, the United States is geographically secure, with gentle Canada to our north and a real, but minimal, threat of Mexico to our south. Mexico is only a threat in terms of drugs and immigrants – it isn’t like they’re massing armies on the border.
We’ve got abundant natural resources and farmers who are so able to feed us that we export a lot of our farm produce. We’ve got a temperate climate (except in Buffalo), an industrial base, a reasonably educated population, and most of all, a history of facing and overcoming adversity. What’s more, the nation has been through worse – civil war and world wars and more than one depression. We weathered all those transitions. When it comes right down to it, we help each other and get by – and sometimes just getting by is a major victory. You can build from that.
Which brings me back to the dog. I’ve been moved to try to help hurt dogs before, but sometimes they’re so afraid, so hurt, so angry, that it’s too risky. There’s no trust, and they’re a threat even when you’re offering them food. They run away or growl at you. Then you call animal control, knowing that the poor pooch is going to meet a needle in the not-too-distant future. Or you let them wander on, knowing that a car or heartworms or plain starvation is going to end them sooner rather than later. This dog – my sister has named her Sugar, because she’s so sweet – was cautious but friendly, willing to find out if we were a threat before she responded with bared teeth, willing to get more information before she made a judgment.
Which seems just about perfect. Fear if it’s necessary, but let information direct your action. Be angry when it’s called for, but never let another man use your anger to drive you for his own purposes.
I just went and rubbed her little pot belly. She stretched comfortably and trustingly, and never even opened her eyes.
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