Brandon spied a dark figure with a low profile galloping from right to left between the traffic. His brain soon registered the figure as a small dog. He imagined the animal being struck, it lying maimed and whimpering in the middle of the street. He imagined it struggling to move and then its life being dashed out by a second strike. Repulsed at the prospect, he abruptly threw his car into park. Exiting the car to the sound of horns and entering the mist, Brandon knelt to the height of the animal. He held his arms open wide as an invitation for the dog, which he now recognized as a black miniature Schnauzer. "Come on, boy!" he encouraged. The dog paused upon hearing the voice, looked towards its origin, changed course, and rushed towards him. A soaked and soiled red leash fluttered behind the dog. Brandon surged with joy at the sight. Upon scooping him up, Brandon lunged back into the car. The dog, as if understanding his role, crossed the console, sat elegantly upon the passenger seat, and looked forward. Brandon put the car in drive, accelerated, and considered what to do next.
The windshield wipers smeared the view clean. Brandon was immediately convinced of the need to find the dog's owner. "It's okay, boy. You're safe now. You're fine. It's fine now," he reassured. His right hand stroked the dog's head and back while his left hand steered. The dog's soft, black hair was prickly with evidence of a recent grooming session. The green and cream bow around his neck above his collar guaranteed as much. Brandon merged left, turned left, made a u-turn, and went straight towards the nearest parking lot. At a stoplight, he looked at the dog's collar. The silver loop where the leash was attached was devoid of identification tags. Disheartened by the newly discovered difficulty in finding the owner, he concentrated on meeting him or her in person. Brandon wanted to see a frantic person looking onward towards the street, calling out for his lost pet. When he entered the lot, he found no such person. There were no cars that presented themselves as likely candidates for a dog's escape. Brandon's blood pressure rose slightly. He wondered what to do next. All the while, the dog gazed forward unaffected.
Brandon looked to the nearby businesses. A barber shop, a grocer, a cellular phone store: the strip of storefronts held no promise at first. Further along, wedged in between a sandwich shop and a video game retailer, shined a sign for gourmet pet treats. "There we go. Is that where you came from, little buddy?" In the recesses of his mind, Brandon felt ashamed for using nondescript language to refer to his guest. Neither knowing the dog's actual name nor wishing to court attachment by giving a new name, he had no other recourse.
The schnauzer shifted his weight in response to the deceleration of his transportation. The breaks gave a weary, dull squeal as they stopped the car within the weathered lines of a parking spot. Brandon took the cold, damp leash in his hand. "Come on, boy." On command, the dog left his seat and leaped out onto the pavement. Salty droplets left by the dog's coat converged on the cracked black leather behind him. The two traversed the parking lot. Mounds of grey-tan plowed snow along the curb looked as though peppercorns had been cracked over them.
An electronic tone sounded as the front door was pushed in. Brandon crossed the threshold after the dog, whose hardest tugging required the slightest tightening of Brandon's shoulder muscles. He advanced through the isles towards the cash register. The dog did not advance in such a determined fashion. The bouquet of baked goods filled the dog's tiny black nostrils. The stimulation excited him to the point of frenzy. His little black legs flickered about in response. He darted from table to table where the sundry items were woefully out of sight and reach. Dragging the tantalized dog behind him, Brandon addressed a woman behind the counter of the store.
"Hey, have you seen this dog before?"
The woman looked down with her brown eyes. She made a cooing sound towards the dog. "No. I can't say that I have." Disappointment welled within Brandon. She looked back up at him. "Why do you ask?"
Amused by the realization of the queerness of the question he asked, Brandon took to explaining with a smirk. "I just found him. He was crossing the road out there. Poor guy was going to be hit I think."
The woman moaned with empathy. She maneuvered around the barrier and dropped to the level of the dog. The Schnauzer rushed to meet the woman who was squeaking praise towards him. Her frizzy hair shimmied about her face as she complimented the dog on his distinguished appearance. "He must just have been groomed. This bow wouldn't have lasted long. I bet the owner is a woman. No guy would let his dog keep this frilly them on him, would he? Would he? No he wouldn't!" The dog was pleased by the intonation of her rhetorical questions.
The implications of the situation seeped into Brandon's thoughts. Once again, he wondered what to do next. As if on cue, the woman has a recommendation for him.
"There's a groomer just up the road. Let's give them a call. Maybe you escaped. Did you escape, huh?" After thumbing through the phone directory, she removed a cordless phone from its receiver. After seven more electronic tones, she placed the phone on her ear.
While waiting, Brandon took stock of the recent events. He was surprised at his reckless, impulsive behavior. He was not the type to court danger. He considered himself fortunate not to have caused an accident. The roads were slick with a mixture of water and trodden snow. The fog restricted visibility. More reckless than the act of stopping now seemed to be the assumption of responsibility at stooping down and calling to the dog. He was in no position to care for a dog. He still lived with his parents. His parents could hardly afford any more bills. There was an ordinance in his town against three or more dogs. It was unlikely a neighbor would report them, but, all the same, it was a possibility. He could not give the dog up, though. Brandon knew what happened to dogs that went to the pound. He stopped to save the dog's life in the first place, not to prolong it a few days.
He pushed the anxiety out of his mind by making a simple resolution. He would move out and care for the dog on his own if that was what it took. That was the proper thing to do. He imagined a future scene, opening the door after work and calling to the Schnauzer. A little creature would prance towards him. It would please Brandon to do what was right. He wanted or, rather, needed an excuse to move out and he inadvertently adopted one.
After dropping to one knee, Brandon took to showering the dog with affection. The dog accepted with pleasure. "Sit," commanded Brandon. The dog sat. "Good boy!" He rubbed the dogs back with both hands quickly. Another customer approached the two of them.
"What a good looking dog you have there. How old is he or she?" When Brandon looked up, he saw a woman with short blonde hair and a puffy violet jacket. Her face was framed with colorful collars on the wall behind her.
"I don't know how old he is. Not too old. A couple of years tops maybe. He's not mine, though. I just found him crossing the road."
The blonde woman's face became exaggeratedly despondent. "Oh, no! He could have been hit!"
"I know."
"Well bless your heart for helping. Poor little guy. Does he have any tags?"
"Nope."
"Oh no."
"What'll you do?"
Explaining his semi-formed intentions seemed futile. Brandon opted to lie, though not without reservations. "I'll put up a few signs and take him home in the meantime."
"Isn't that nice of you?" She looked to the dog and said, "You've got a real saint here," a jerked her head in Brandon's direction. She reached over and tousled the hair of the dog's goatee. Reestablishing eye contact with the young man, she wish him luck and retreated back to the aisle of organic dog foods.
The employee had been speaking to someone at the grooming business, but Brandon's divided attention prevented him from following the conversation.
"They said they hadn't taken care of a black miniature schnauzer lately." She paused. "And he doesn't have any tags?"
"Nope."
"I bet he's hungry. Are you hungry, little fella?" The dog's tail waggled. "Yes you are." The woman reached into the pocket of her apron which hung on her thick abdomen and withdrew a dog treat in the shape of a t-bone steak. "Here you go."
The dog ate the treat with obvious relish. "You are hungry." She fed him another treat. "Are you thirsty, too? Who knows how long you've been out there running around. I'll go get you some water."
Brandon looked around while the schnauzer sniffed the nearby bags of food. Magnets with breed specific icons underneath the letter 'i' and a red heart were on a nearby wall. Other pro-dog trinkets and knick-knacks were organized beneath the register. A stainless steel cover shone prominently further behind the counter where dog biscuits with whole oats and flax-seeds were baked. Brandon thought he would not be willing to taint his surroundings with such decorations or be able to spoil the dog with such treats.
The woman returned with a white plastic bowl full of water. The dog raised upon its back legs upon seeing the bowl. "Well look at you! You are thirsty." Once placed on the ground, the dog lapped up the water in a sloppy flash. "You know, sometimes people put a microchip in their dogs that vets and shelters can scan. Maybe he has a chip in him."
The prospect of an adventure pleased Brandon. "Where's the nearest vet?"
After taking down directions on the back of a store coupon, Brandon thanked the woman for her help and kindness. "Let's go." With a little tug, the dog accompanied his caretaker back through the store. The same tone sounded upon their exit.
