Chapter 6

My heart was racing as I exited the hotel, over 24 hours of agony was hopefully about to pay off. I had seen the dog out the window before coming down so I knew where to look. I made my way down the sidewalk to the left, past some people sitting on benches. The sky was getting darker and the heat was subsiding a bit. Calm conditions.

When I got within 20 feet, I slowed down and tried to pretend I was just minding my business, hoping I wouldn’t scare it off. I walked a bit closer and sat down on the sidewalk in a dirt patch where a tree would normally be. Trying to remain relaxed so the dog wouldn’t pick up on my true intentions, I began to just look at it for a few seconds. The dog was too smart for me. Despite still being around 10 feet away, that was apparently too close. It got up and started to stagger away but it was curious about me and it didn’t go far, just a few more feet before sitting down again.

No matter how interested in me it may have been, fear had taught it better. This dog had no reason to trust anyone so I had to be careful. I was curious if it recognized me from the day before. Would it know I was friendly because they are masters of reading body language and I was clearly trying to help it yesterday, or was it in such a state of terror that I was lumped in with everyone that was trying to hurt it?

An odd thing happened while watching the dog wobble around. The first verse of the Metric song “Help I’m Alive” got stuck in my head, repeating.

“I tremble. They’re gonna eat me alive. If I stumble. They’re gonna eat me alive. Can you hear my heart? Beating like a hammer. Beating like a hammer.” The entire song didn’t fit the situation by any means, but that first section played endlessly in my head. Watching the dog stumble around and trembling, it must have felt like the world wanted to eat it alive. Both of our hearts were beating like a hammer. It was terrified of everything and I was trying to save it. It sounds corny, as if I planned it or added it in for effect, but it was entirely natural. The name being “Help, I’m Alive” made it all the more appropriate. It was as if the dog wanted somebody, anybody at all, to recognize that it is a living creature that doesn’t deserve to be treated this way and it needs help. I always think of this time on the sidewalk in Cairo when I hear that song.

I sat my bag down and pulled out the crude water bowl I had made earlier. The dog’s curiosity was growing, as it began to stare at me. I poured some water into the bowl and slid it on the dirt toward the dog. It wagged its tail nervously. It wanted the water but I was too close. The dog grabbed the bowl in its mouth and tried to carry it off. Water slung all over the ground leaving nothing to drink. It stepped away from me again.

“Well, I guess I’ll try the meat then,” I thought to myself.

I pulled the folded-up napkin out of my bag and tossed a piece of meat over. That got its attention. Snatching up the first piece out of the dirt, the dog looked at me again. I tossed another piece over, this one a little closer to me than the first. That would be my strategy--lure the dog closer and closer by tossing the meat shorter distances each time. A classic with a proven track record. Little by little the dog got nearer to me. Having not eaten meat in a long time, I wasn’t even sure what I was feeding it. It looked like sausage and salami slices, hopefully not spiced with anything bad but at that stage feeding it anything had to be better than nothing.

When the meat was gone I grabbed up the water bowl and the dog lumbered forward a little bit more, stepping up on the edge of the sidewalk I was sitting on. I poured a second round of water and sat the bowl next to me. Before handing it over again I decided to pull out my camera to take a few pictures and some video.

Once I started rolling, the dog stepped down off the sidewalk into the dirt again and turned a circle, stumbling and sniffing at the ground most of the way. I picked up the bowl and slid it across the dirt once more, this time scooting myself away right after to give it some space. Success! The dog came forward and started drinking, only stopping to look up at the sound of a car horn that was particularly close. Looking at the road then back at me, the dog’s tail went in a full helicopter spin as it licked its lips.

The dog kept staring at me with its tail spinning so hard I thought it was about to pull its body up into the air. It stumbled a little further away toward where the dirt met the sidewalk that was right next to the road, standing next to the water spill. Even while its tail was still happily going, the dog had its head hunched down like it was afraid I could strike it at any moment. Determined to pet it, I leaned forward and stuck out my closed fist at full arm’s length, holding it there hoping the dog would come toward me. It took a few steps closer, gingerly walking on that front leg.

Right around then I saw how badly it was hurt. The right front leg had a small bulge in the forearm area and the dog never put any weight on it. If it had to touch the ground it would do so very quickly, like a person who had just rolled an ankle and was trying to walk, but I started to think maybe there was more going on with the dog than just a bad leg. It looked as if it had a hard time balancing, always swaying a little bit and stepping side to side while moving forward. It’s right ear didn’t ever move. It was laid down on the side of its head, stiff and motionless, while the left ear stood up and bobbed about like a normal dog ear. The bad ear and bad leg were on the same side of the body, perhaps it had absorbed serious trauma on that side. I started to wonder what was wrong with it that I couldn’t see. Was the balance issue purely due to the leg, or was it something to do with whatever injured that ear? The idea of this dog, or any dog, taking some sort of blow to the head sickened me. Maybe it had a bad back leg on that side, too. I couldn’t imagine the dog surviving being hit by a car but that would explain how it had multiple injuries on the same side.

The dog looked at me as if conflicted, wanting to come check me out but not trusting me yet. That’s fair, it had no reason to trust anyone. Tail still going strong, the dog looked around, at me, then the ground, then the street. It sniffed at the ground as if playing shy, like it didn’t want me to think it was interested in me but was just getting a better scope of the surroundings. I held my closed fist out toward it the whole time and it would periodically stare at it, like it knew not to take its eyes off a fist. That front right leg was just flailing about, dangling centimeters above the ground while it decided what to do. Stepping closer then back again. Eventually it sat down right on the spilled water but even the act of sitting looked to be a struggle. Something had to be wrong with a back leg or its hips to cause it to sit in such a way.

With its body stretched out a little more I could see its ribs clearly. I knew the dog was thin but when ribs are showing to that extent you know it’s severely underweight. It was also young. I couldn’t tell how young exactly but it was nowhere near an adult. Older than a puppy for sure, but unquestionably under a year. This dog had lived less than a year and all it had known so far must have been pure hell.

The dog was sitting there biting at itself, but everything seemed like such a chore. It couldn’t quite turn around normally to bite at its back, like everything was just very stiff. It started swinging that front right leg around by its head like it wanted to scratch that hard, flattened ear but the leg just couldn’t do it. The leg swung at me a couple of times while the dog stared, almost like it was playing. Then back to biting at itself.

I took the opportunity to really look at it now. There were numerous small spots on the legs completely devoid of hair. A couple of them looked like cigarette burns. I couldn’t bear the thought of somebody putting a lit cigarette out on an animal, especially this one that had clearly been through more than its share of pain, but I certainly wouldn’t have been surprised if that was what had led to the bald spots. The dog was also filthy beyond belief. Living on the streets it couldn’t be any other way. It wasn’t as brown as I had originally thought, more of a light sandy color with some white on it, but there was a lot of dirt. There was a little pinkish spot on its nose, almost in a heart-like shape.

I thought to myself, “if I should be so lucky as to ever get the chance to pet this dog my hand is going to come back disgusting.”

A young woman approached from across the street. It was written all over her face that she was intrigued by what was going on over on this side of Haram with me and the dog so she took the chance and beat Frogger level 1 to come find out for herself. She was dressed in typical attire from head to toe aside from having long sleeves under her shirt and a hijab. I confess I was equally intrigued by her and what she might say. I was about to have my first in depth conversation with an Egyptian that most likely didn’t want money from me.

“Hallo, where are you from?” she asked in a thick but endearing accent with a gigantic smile.

“The U.S. Kentucky.”

“Oh, like Kentucky Fried Chicken,” she responded with a laugh.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what everyone says.” I hate it when people in a foreign country bring up KFC as their first association with Kentucky and it happens literally everywhere in the world. Not that we have a lot of other things to be known for outside of the States but I particularly despise that a fast food chain is what people think of first. Across the entire world this is the immediate response from every single person when I tell them I’m from Kentucky. It’s irritating every single time.

The woman then asked, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean? With the dog?”

“Yes, why are you doing this?”

“Well, uh, I love dogs. I hate seeing one like this, starving and in bad shape. It’s pitiful. Why does no one care?”

“Is normal here.”

“This is not normal where I’m from.”

“No?”

“No. We have strays but people usually try to help them. Maybe take them to a shelter or something. Yesterday I saw kids chasing this dog and hitting it. Their parents were just sitting there watching. I’ve never seen anything like that before. A guy tried to drive his car over it.”

She gave me this innocent but almost embarrassed smile and said my three least favorite words, “Welcome to Egypt” combined with a little shrug.

I had to bite my tongue. Saying “Welcome to Egypt” does not excuse any of the behavior I had witnessed towards the dog or the scam artists working around Giza, but everyone here seemed to accept it like it was a ‘get out of jail free’ card on Monopoly. Hey, I just stole your wallet but welcome to Egypt, move along now. I’m going to kick this dog and you’re going to have to stand there and love it. Oh, and by the way, welcome to Egypt. How about I refuse to give you your luggage because this tip is too small? Welcome to Egypt, thanks for the new clothes.

“Yeah, I keep hearing that, ’welcome to Egypt’,” I rolled my eyes. “So, why does nobody care about animals like this?”

“Look at it, it’s dying.” The look on her face showed no sympathy for the dog.

“I don’t think it’s dying, it’s not that bad off. It’s hurt, though. And hungry. I wish I could help it.” It’s like I was trying to convince her that I was right and she was wrong. I’m an American, we are intolerant cultural assholes by nature, surely, she would come to her senses and love animals like I do. “Is it like this everywhere over here? Not just Cairo, but all of Egypt?”

“Yes, people here don’t have money or time to take care of animals.”

“But that’s no reason to be cruel. Just leave them alone then.”

“Is baladi dog. Nobody wants them.”

“A what? Ballady dog?” I had never heard of this breed before.

“Yes. Baladi. It means like, local dog. Street dog.”

“Ah, ok. We just call them strays or mutts in America.”

“Yes, is same thing. They come from the desert. People don’t like them. They are aggressive.”

“This dog is not aggressive. Look at it. It’s the people I’ve seen that are aggressive.”

She giggled a little, more so out of embarrassment than finding it funny. There was a massive societal divide between us. We came from two different worlds, seeing eye to eye just wasn’t going to happen. Her facial expression changed a little bit. I got the impression she thought what I was doing was cute. That my determination to convince her that animals are worth loving was something new to her and she found it sort of sweet.

The young woman pointed out two officers at the post down the sidewalk to the right and how they were watching us, laughing. We slowly made our way down there while still chatting. The dog followed us, keeping a little distance but making sure we didn’t get too far away.

One of the officers was middle aged and the other was a bit younger, probably in his early twenties. The older one had no interest in us once we got there, but the younger man was still smiling and laughing a little. Neither officer spoke any English so I asked my new female friend to translate.

“What’s he laughing at?”

“He thinks it’s funny. He’s not laughing at you but he says he has never seen anything like this before.”

Okay, I guess that’s fine. He didn’t look like an asshole so I just took the woman at her word. Honestly, he looked friendly. Friendlier than the officer that helped me yesterday.

“Could you ask him how long that dog has been around here?”

They spoke in Arabic for a few seconds then she turned back to me. “He says it has been here a while. It’s here every day.”

“Every day. Is anyone ever with it?”

Turning to the officer then back to me. “No, is alone. It lives on the street.”

“Okay, could you ask him one more thing for me?”

“Of course.” She seemed genuinely happy to help and the officer didn’t seem to mind either. The first two honestly helpful people I had met and they weren’t expecting tips.

“Ask him if he knows what’s wrong with it. It has that bad leg and that ear that doesn’t go up. Something happened to it.”

A minute later: “He says he doesn’t know. People chase it away, sometimes hit it.”

I shook my head in disgust. They both looked embarrassed. “Thank you. And tell him thank you, too. Maybe he can keep an eye out on this dog for me from now on.” I said it with a smile and the woman spoke again to the officer. He smiled back in what looked like amusement. I knew he wouldn’t do it but maybe he would at least stop people from hitting it. We said our goodbyes and I turned my attention back to the dog.

It was becoming more and more evident that I had gotten in over my head. The dog laid down in the dirt and rolled over on its back in total submission. This was it, the invite I had been working and waiting for. Trust had been gained.

I knelt down and rubbed her belly very lightly. She had a body like a greyhound--a skinny waist and deep chest. Her hair was smooth and soft. Having no idea what other injuries she might have I had to be cautious. The thought of something bad happening after all I had gone through to get close to her was a nightmare. The last thing I wanted to do was touch a rib that could be broken or rub a spot that might be sore. If that happened and she cried out in pain, I would probably cry myself. Even worse she could run into traffic and get hit or just get up and run away down the sidewalk. That would be my final memory of her, just running off into the night because I wasn’t careful enough. Having learned later about police in Egypt shooting dogs I can only imagine how those nearby officers might have reacted if this dog howled and bit me because I had accidentally hurt or scared it.

I spoke softly to her, “Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer?” I could feel it trying to pound its way out of my chest.

As I’m gently stroking the dog’s belly my mind turned to my two dogs back home. E-Style and Chewie, better known to friends and family as The Hogs. E-Style is my baby, she would have been almost 9 years old at the time. A little hairless, slate-colored, one-eyed Chinese Crested. Completely full of spunk and personality. Incredibly sweet and loving but still a little shit in her own way.

Chewie is my mom’s dog. A little white male Chinese Crested mix that was approaching 5 years old at the time. Mr. Chewpants and E-Style have completely opposite personalities. He’s always been a sad little guy, sort of moping around and just looking depressed, while E needs to know where you are at all times and be in that place with you. Chew is content to go in another room by himself and lay perched on top of the couch like a lethargic gargoyle. E loves laying on the sidewalk and baking in the sun, Chew-man loves the couch and air-conditioning. E loves toys so much that she has a hand puppet alligator named Mr. Hat that she humps all over the house with regularity. Mr. Chew just wants to lay around and bite on his feet. Two vastly different dogs, supposedly of the same breed, but they are inseparable. My life revolves around the Hogs and they are never far from my thoughts.

Back on the streets of Cairo, I was still comforting my new canine companion while starting to think irrationally about potential consequences this could have for E and Chew. I started to worry that maybe this Egyptian street dog had a disease or sickness that I could carry home somehow. I’d never forgive myself for that. Obviously, that’s not really possible but my emotions were running wild again and I was finding it harder to process everything clearly. There were so many things racing through my mind it was hard to latch onto one specifically and just take in the moment. There I was, finally petting the dog that I had practically stalked for two days. With persistence, planning, and a little luck, I was able to break through the terrible circumstances to establish a relationship with this helpless little creature. I needed to appreciate what was happening rather than worry about my dogs on the other side of the world.

Simultaneously overcome with both peace and sadness, I felt like I must be the only person in the world to connect with that dog. To care for her, show her kindness, give her a soft caress. I had to be the first person to show an interest in her well-being. To acknowledge she was a living thing that deserved respect and a chance to survive in that brutal environment with its sadistic inhabitants. When she was in need of a hero to rescue her from the violence she endured on a daily basis, somehow, I found the strength within myself to step up and take whatever risk was necessary to save her. Ignoring my better judgment that told me only trouble and agony would be found if I pursued this, I followed through anyway because the dog needed me.

That’s how I felt at that moment. It was an honor accompanied by an overwhelming sorrow. A feeling of immense pride, sincere gratitude, and incredible heartbreak. Each passing second became more of a challenge to fight back tears. I did not want to cry while petting the stray dog. Not there. Not on those streets in front of those people. I would not let them see I was broken because their cold-hearted, merciless attitude towards animals had made me get too involved for my own good. This damaged little girl laying on her back in the dirt needed me. She needed me to be strong for her and to show her what love is rather than get caught up in my own emotions. I had to push it back down deep inside, there would be time for it later.

Out of nowhere the streets went dark. A power outage. As if everything wasn’t dramatic enough. The lights in the surrounding buildings returned within seconds but the streets stayed black.

I had my soundtrack playing in my head and now I had the mood lighting. The darkness made it all feel so much heavier. I certainly had no desire for any extra weight piled up on top of everything I was feeling, but Cairo had been very unforgiving the last three days. Of course it would finish strong.

The idea of calling an animal shelter never crossed my mind. If I had learned anything while in Cairo it was that animals were not a priority. Not just an assumption, I had been outright told that by the young woman I had talked to a few minutes earlier. I had no reason to believe animal shelters even existed in Egypt. I wouldn’t have even known where to look for that kind of information. I didn’t have a smart phone in 2010 and, even if I had internet access, by this juncture it was too late.

As I looked down at the nameless baladi dog I had spent the last two days obsessing over, the inevitability of what I had to do next creeped up into my thoughts. I had to leave. I had no idea how long I had been down there but I knew it was too long. It had been a little before dusk when I went down there but by this point it was fully into the night. It was time. The inevitable had arrived.

My stomach sank and my legs turned to jelly. My throat tightened up and my eyes started to get blurry. My heart was no longer beating like a hammer, it was disintegrating. I had to force myself to stand up. It was like jumping off a high dive or doing a shot of some particularly potent alcohol; there couldn’t be any thinking about it and psyching myself out, I had to just do it. I gave the dog one last little rub on the chest. She had her eyes closed in total relaxation.

In one swift motion I stood up and started walking away. For whatever reason, I made the mistake of glancing back at the dog. She turned her head in my direction to see where I had gone then started to get up. Tail wagging, she started trailing me. I had to move.

Making my way across the sidewalk, I looked up and noticed a couple sitting on a bench. The man had his arm around the woman and he yelled out to me.

“Why don’t you take him in your hotel with you?” followed by a little chuckle between the two of them, clearly mocking me.

I stopped and sort of barked back at them, “why don’t you take her home with you?” It was the worst comeback of all time but I had nothing else.

“Ha!” He almost doubled over. I guess he felt the need to make fun of some tourist trying to help one of Cairo’s worthless baladi dogs to feel better about his own shitty life. In a city full of assholes, he needed to make sure his lady knew that he was the King Asshole of Haram Street. That bench was his throne and I was his court jester. She must have been so impressed.

For a split second, I considered striking up an actual conversation with him. Maybe I could convince him to help me or do the right thing by helping the dog. As he continued laughing, the thought faded almost as quickly as it had formed. He made a waving motion with his hand as if to say ‘move along’ then turned his attention back to the woman sitting with him. Out of all the rude and heartless people I had encountered, this was the one man I wanted to punch right in the face. The night had been painful enough without some blowhard trying to rub salt in the wound. Feeling vulnerable already, it just hit me the wrong way. If he had delivered a “welcome to Egypt” to me I probably would have snapped. His antics led me to assume his life was one of such great disappointment that he felt compelled to ridicule somebody for taking an interest in a street dog. I held onto that thought and just let it all slide. He wasn’t worth it.

Since I had been standing there for a few seconds the dog nearly caught up to me. I turned my head around to see her hobbling along, tail swaying from side to side. It was like she was a normal dog and I was taking her for a walk. She looked so content, like she must have been thinking “where are we going next?” It would have been cute if it wasn’t so tragic.

I started walking once more, but I couldn’t help turning back again to see what she was doing and where she was. A little further away but still following. She stared right at me with her tail swinging back and forth. She was doing her best impression of a happy dog out for a late-night stroll.

My heart started pounding again. I had to get away from her. She couldn’t still be anywhere around me when I got near the hotel entrance. I didn’t know what I would do if I had to shut the door in her face and I don’t know what the hotel staff would do if there was a mangled mutt just hanging around outside. I didn’t want to find out.

I faced forward and started walking faster. I had to put some space between us quickly before it was too late. I felt like an Olympic power walker trying to jog while still walking. I should have just went for it and ran. Full dramatic effect would have been achieved and it wouldn’t have allowed me to look back again. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t been using my best judgment the last few days so once I stepped down off the sidewalk onto the access road I turned back to look one final time. It would be my undoing.

The dog stood stone-still in the darkness. Staring blankly at me from the distance I had just created. Her tail was down. Her front right leg dangled slightly above the ground. She knew I was getting away from her and she could no longer catch me. I could see it in her eyes. My soul shattered.

To me, in that moment, we were of one mind. We were seeing each other for the last time and both of our hearts broke in unison. Our little love affair was over. I gave her everything I could in the short time allowed and we both had to accept it. I took a long look at her then did the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. I turned around, put my head down, and got into the hotel as fast as I could.

I sprinted through the lobby, looking at no one. I didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone at the desk. Maybe they had seen what was going on outside, maybe they hadn’t. I wanted to disappear. By the time I got on the elevator, my throat felt like I had an entire watermelon stuck in it. When the door opened on the fifth floor, I ran down the hall to our room. As I burst through the door, David was standing nearby. He touched me on the shoulder and opened his mouth to speak. I don’t know if he got anything out before I dashed into the bathroom and closed the door behind.

I sobbed uncontrollably. Two day’s worth of total frustration came out all at once. I cried like somebody had just died. Like a newborn bawling its way out into the world. I couldn’t stop. I felt incredibly guilty. Not only had my escapades with the dog potentially ruined the last two days for David and Megan, now they had to listen to me weeping because of it. They would have been totally justified in smacking me with a big “I told you so” but these were my best friends. I’m sure it lurked somewhere in their subconscious and I wouldn’t fault them for thinking it.

After a few minutes I tried to calm down and straighten myself up. This was the inescapable ending. I knew that all along. We were about to get out of this place and I had to get my shit together. For David and Megan’s sake, for the sake of getting out of the hotel without drawing attention, and ultimately for my own sense of well-being, I had to come to my senses and lock it all away.

We gathered up our things and made our way downstairs. The concierge called a taxi to take us to the airport. We didn’t have to wait long before it arrived and we headed outside. I made it a point to not look down the sidewalk in the direction I had last seen the dog. I couldn’t take seeing her again and I really couldn’t take the idea of her seeing me again. She would get her hopes up only to have them crushed once more as we pulled away. She’d suffered enough.

Next Chapter: Chapter 12