"You must eat something." I coaxed the lethargic ball of fur lying on the floor.
We had made it back to the hotel with little difficulty. I had expected to attract curious looks with my squirming medical bag, but the other occupants in the building had paid me little attention as I climbed the stairs to my room. It wasn't until I had released the now yelping dog from his prison and he had relieved himself most inappropriately in the corner did I begin to realize the consequences of my actions.
The logical decision would be to clean up the mess, leave the dog on the streets and carry on as if it had been nothing but a momentary lack of judgment. But something in the soulful eyes of the frail creature looking up at me persuaded me otherwise. Perhaps it was because I felt like I was looking into a mirror. The dog's own brown eyes mimicked an emotion I had often felt before. The poor thing was lonely.
I walked to my dresser and pulled out a packet of biscuits. I opened the package with a great deal of show to entice the dog and held one under his nose. "Here, boy."
The brown eyes now held a look that was slightly sardonic.
I looked at the biscuit in my hand. Counting the package of biscuits to my food supply, I also had a loaf of bread and a jar of marmite left. Such was the reward of the valiant soldier, I thought dryly. Not that it mattered much. I had cared little for food since returning home.
I broke the biscuit in two and held out a piece. "Do you prefer to share, is that it?" I nibbled slowly on my half and tried not to let my hands shake. Truth be told, I could not recall the last time I had eaten.
Understanding seemed to dawn as the dog watched me polish off my portion and he hesitantly reached for the food I held out to him. His painstaking nervousness was heartbreaking as I saw him try to take the food and keep an eye on me at the same time. In such a short life time, the creature had already seen abuse.
Before I could blink, the biscuit was gone with hardly a crumb to speak of its existence and I was being prodded by a wet nose for more. Laughing, I gave him a whole one and pulled out the loaf of bread for myself.
"It looks like we were both hungry."
The dog ignored my comment and sniffed busily in any direction that led towards food. He was so deeply focused on the task that he gave quite a start when he ran into the jar of marmite that fell over with a clatter.
"You won't like that stuff." I informed him as he curiously sniffed the jar. "It was included in everything we ate while in Afghanistan and I would be lying if I said I wanted to eat it again. It's yours if you really want it."
I unscrewed the lid and put the jar in front of him as I would a feeding bowl. Either canines have no sense of taste, or this pup in particular had a very peculiar liking for disgusting food, because I watched in amazement as he licked the whole container clean in a matter of minutes.
"Beggars can't be choosers has been your motto, I suppose." I spoke languidly as the pup flopped beside me on the floor. "That's the way I used to feel. I had everything going for me. I had graduated from medical school and was engaged to a beautiful girl named Rose. But you know what happened?" I scratched the furry, listening ears beside me. "She left me for Richard Blackstone. How I hate that fellow. It was my own stupidity really. Blackstone and I had been friends at school and I introduced the two at a small get together. I should have known better than to let my beautiful girl associate with the likes of him."
The dog gave a deep sigh in agreement and I continued on."I had nothing left for me; I was angry and hurt and when I heard about the need for soldiers in a country so far away that no one there would have even heard of a John Watson and his misery, I signed up and was deployed three weeks later. The gall of it all was that Rose somehow heard of me joining the military and had the nerve to send me a wedding invitation."
I shifted my lame leg into a better position. Sitting on the floor was not as comfortable as it used to be. "And here I am now. Discharged from the army with a permanent injury all before the age of thirty. Pretty bleak prospects, don't you think?"
The room was still except for the sound of gentle snoring from the bull dog at my side. I don't suppose I could have asked for a better response.
