佚名/Anonymous
A freezing downpour washed che black asphalt street in front of the small town bar. I sat gazing into the watery darkness, alone as usual. Across the rain-drenched roadway was the town park：five acres of grass, giant elm trces and, tonight, an ankle-deep covering of cold water.
I had been in that battered old pub for half an hour, quietly nursing a drink, when my thoughtful stare finally focused on a medium-sized lump in a grassy puddle a hundred feet away. For another ten minutes, I looked out through the tear-streaked windowpane trying to decide if the lump was an animal or just a wet and inanimate something.
The night before, a German shepherd looking mongrel had come into the bar begging for potato chips. He was mangy and starving and just the size of the lump in question. Why would a dog lie in a coldpuddle in the freezing rain?I asked myself. The answer was simple：either it wasnt a dog, or if it was, he was too weak to get up.
The shrapnel wound in my right shoulder ached all the way down to my fngers. I didn‘t want to go out in that storm. Hey, it wasn’t my dog, it wasn‘t anybody’s dog. It was just a stray on a cold night in the rain, a lonely drifter. So was I, I thought, as I tossed down what was left of my drink and headed out the door.
He was lying in three inches of water. When I touched him, he didnt move. I thought he was dead. I put my hands around his chest and hoisted him to his feet. He stood unsteadily in the puddle, his head hung like a weight at the end of his neck. Half his body was covered with mange. His foppy ears were just hairless pieces of fesh dotted with open sores.
“Come on.”I said, hoping I wouldnt have to carry his infected carcass to shelter. His tail wagged once and he plodded weakly after me. I led him to an alcove next to the bar, where he lay on the cold cement and closed his eyes.
A block away I could see the lights of a late night convenience store. It was still open. I bought three cans of Alpo and stuffed them into my leather coat. I was wet and ugly and the clerk looked relieved as I left. The race-type exhausts on my old Harley Davidson rattled the windows in the bar as I rode back to the bar.