Empty Windows

She had black hair with white splotches. She sat in my back seat shaking, scared, anxious the entire time I drove. You see, for a hobby of sorts, and to get away, I deliver displaced or adopted, or new pets to families. I love to drive. It is a meditation of sorts for me. The pet delivery thing is a great venue for this. I get to take dogs and cats, puppies and kittens to their new families, their new homes. At the same time I can relax...if driving 80 or 90 miles an hour in rush hour traffic around New York City or Philly, or even worse, Boston, can be called relaxing. But it is.

So I had to take a two year old Border Collie back to her breeder in Utica. Her owner was a drunk and didn't want her any more. This dog's owner had another great family who would take her in. I love animals. For some reason I bond with them; I guess even more so than with people on some levels since I've been married twice, have had too many relationships, and not many close friends. The minute this dog and I met, there was a connection, a spiritual connection that can't be related, analyzed, nor rationalized.It just is.

She ran over to me and sat in front of me, pawed at my leg. She was about twenty pounds and when she sat, her head was about mid-thigh high. She wanted a reassuring pet. She didn't want to go. A crate was out of the question, so I picked her up and sat her in the back seat. She turned her back to me and looked out the back window. Her front legs shook the entire trip. She tried to lay down but couldn't. So she sat there, in the back seat, back to me, looking out the back window...and shook.

I talked to her, she didn't have a name. Dog was good with her since her name would be changed again anyway. A new house, another family, another name. She was going to another place and didn't have any control over it. Others always have control over it. My heart was bleeding for this dog, this life that didn't know where she was going, where her next meal was coming form, where she was going to sleep that night.

So on we drove. All the while, my mind crept into times in my life when I was displaced,  scared, didn't know where I was going to call home. I have never had a home, not a long standing home. The longest I've lived in one place has been seven years. All this dog wanted was to have a place, a home, where she could lay down at night with the same people and know she would never take a long ride again...doesn't everyone want that? Doesn't everyone want to have enough comfort to feel safe, secure, and wanted?

Finally, we arrived at the meeting place, a Burger King in Utica. It was cool. The sun shined bright and Fall was showing in the trees. The dog jumped out of my truck and I tried to lead her toward the other car. She didn't want to go. The woman took the dog's leash and walked her. The dog ran a little, but refused to get into the car. She was saying, "watch, I can run and play right here in the grass...please don't make me get into the car."

I had to leave. I was devastated. I decided to not take the Thruway back and drive around in the mountains a bit. I turned off the GPS and headed North. I wound up just North of Onedia Lake and drove around on some back roads. Still upset over the dog, I couldn't shake her out of my mind. All along the roads there were empty houses. Houses that were abandoned, owners long gone. I wondered if they got old and died or just up and left for whatever reason. The houses, all of them, had windows in front, windows that people looked out at night, barriers between the terrors of loneliness outside and the security inside. Now, those windows looked dark and blank, dead, like black holes in a scull, with the front door as a nose and the rotting porches like a toothless frown. The owners were gone, left the houses alone in the night to die, rot, and crumble into compost...like all life does eventually...like I will, like that dog will.

Living alone is scary at times, mostly it is numbing. I made a comment once that I could flop over dead in the living room and no one would know until the neighbors complained about the smell. I have two cats who make my house not so empty. They know, or at least assume, that they will always live there...and die there. When I moved into my house, Frizzbee wouldn't come out from under the end table for weeks. Big Cat was pissed. He swiped at me for a week. Then they both settled down when they felt safe, like I wasn't going to kick them out again...they are both rescue cats; their original owners didn't want them either.

So I drove through the mountains looking at dead houses wondering why they were abandoned and left alone. I wondered about the dog and if she would ever get over being kicked out of her home. And I wondered about me, my house, and whether it would ever be home...and whether my home would have dead eyes for windows when I turn to dirt.