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TITLE: The Tramp was a Lady
By Robert Drury
09/16/04

To refer to her merely as a pet would be to defame her as it belittles her role in the lives of scores of people and particularly in my life. I remember the day she limped into my life as if it were this morning. It was a damp, rainy day and a fine mist was upon the grounds of the large state hospital that housed the drug and alcohol rehab I had entered a few months before. I took a break from my duties and stop outside at the top of the stairs of the entrance to our eighty bed building and was surveying the grim gray space and patches of green grass. Then a black burley ball of fur seemed to tentatively emerge from the fog. I braced to attention as I thought it might be a wounded animal. Such would not be a completely uncommon occurrence at the sprawling hospital complex nestled in a remote rural area of central New Jersey. As the staggering figure inched its way closer, I could discern what appeared to be a rabid wolf or large coyote. I looked closer as I was frozen from fear and could do little else. It stopped and seemed to be trying to sniff out more information than its nose was capable of giving. It inched even closer and just as it looked up and its eyes met mine, I could see that I was only half right. It was wounded, but it was a dog! One of the strangest looking dogs I have ever laid eyes on. I could easily read the fear, pain, hunger and desperate hope in its eyes. My fear quickly turned into compassion and the dog lover in me spoke gentle words of care and concern to this pathetic patch of black from the fog. It did not break its glance as its nose continued the attempt to decipher more than it was capable of. It then whispered a whimper as it would or could no longer conceal its desperation. Instinctively, I knew it was too soon to approach it. So I continued to verbally caress and commiserate with it. Another resident head me and came out to look. I motioned him to stop and quietly asked him to bring some food and water. When he did, I simply lest it at the top of the steps and left, making sure to close the massive front door behind me as gently as I could. I manage to repeat this scenario several times during the following day and a half until I noticed it was steadily increasing the frequency and volume of its whimpering as if it were deciding to trust me enough to share more of its pain and vulnerability with me. Over the next three days, it never ventured far from the front entrance and I would come closer with the food and water each time. Finally, I placed it on the front walk and sat down on the last step from the bottom. It approached more tenuously than before, but its hunger and hope overcame it fear and after gazing at me for the longest time, it lowered its head by my feet and began to eat and drink. When finished it resumed its stare and whimper, while I continued to speak to it reassuringly. After several minutes, it moved forward and began licking my shoe and simultaneously, I caressed its ear with two fingers. That moment sealed a bond of love and companionship that was to become the stuff of legend.

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