Back in July, I wrote about a new neighbor. After a few days, I didn't see him around and started worrying. Although I wasn't there to see him during the day, I figured I'd at least see him.
I was at my mother's house early one Saturday morning, out in front and not paying attention, when I spotted Tripod next door. I squatted, held out my hand and called to him. He looked at me for a few moments, and then to my surprise, he warily worked his way over to me and eventually came to within arms reach.
I cautiously reached and gently scratched the top of his head. Becoming bolder, I not only scratched his head, but he allowed me to scratch his side too. He stayed for a few moments, then bounded away, bounded back, allowed me to scratch him again, then ran about for a few seconds; obviously playing.
He came back for one more scratch and then was off to next door. I left him alone and went into my mother's house; pleased and honored.
Since then, I've seen him a few times. Watching how he interacts with neighbors, I've determined they've all befriended him, give him food and a little scratch when he lets them.
Yesterday, as I passed one of the neighbor's houses, I noticed the woman was vigorously scratching a little dog that was laying on his side. The dog was stretched out, wagging his tail and obviously enjoying the attention. It was Tripod, enjoying the scratch and content.
Tripod, as far as I can tell, is now the neighborhood's dog. Nobody is the owner, yet everybody takes responsibility in keeping him fed and with water.
Tripod, probably from his time being abused, doesn't wander far from the few houses he calls home, keeps a low profile and is hardly noticeable, unless you really look for him
From my encounter, I'm thinking his eyesight is impaired, which only makes his loss of one leg sadder. Hopefully, his trust will eventually lead to allowing the next door neighbor to take him to the vet, which is his plan. Until then, he's a free spirit and the dog of the neighborhood.
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.