My Social Media-less Life

Years ago, there was an older gentleman near my neighborhood who began going on nighttime walks with a dog that, to my eyes as I drove by at 40 miles per hour, seemed to be hobbling. One night as I drove by, I was shocked to discover the dog only had 3 legs.

I’m not really sure how I found that out, but after I did, it was completely obvious. The dog and man seemed perfectly content on their nighttime walks; it was summertime when I first saw them and I noticed that as the seasons changed, I’d see them at different times throughout the days.

Whatever job I had that caused me to drive down that particular stretch of road where they usually took their walks ended and I didn’t see them as much, but I began to associate this particular 500 feet of road/sidewalk with the man and his three-legged dog. Sometimes, I was rewarded with a real-life sighting of them instead of seeing them in my mind’s eye.

Then I began to see them less and less.

I started to get concerned that maybe the malady of only 3 legs took the dog too soon… and then I began to see them again, but it seemed different. Like there were only a limited number of times that I’d see them again.

Both the man and the dog were of course getting older and in my own life, some of the dogs I was sitting were either too old to go out walking or had recently departed, so I understood the struggle.

I asked a friend of mine if it would be weird to stop one day and give the man a gift of some kind to show my appreciation for how stable he and his three-legged companion had been in my life, especially during the “dark days” of COVID. I remember them a lot during that time especially. Of course, my friend assured me that would not be weird and I should do something nice for him.

I only saw him a handful of times after that, but it was always when the street I drove down was the busiest and of course… I never had any physical gifts to give him. So I kept on driving.

I distinctly remember the last time I saw the man and his companion.

It was mid-2023 (because I was wearing what was my “walking dress” at the time and didn’t have a coat on) and I was walking and listening to Switchfoot’s 2023 version of their 2003 album, The Beautiful Letdown. They were right there, on the other side of the road, but too far ahead for me to overtake them without seeming desperate and weird (as if that’s ever stopped me before).

At this point, I had abandoned all hope of having a gift; I just wanted to speak some kind words to the man and his dog who had brought so much joy to my life over the last several years.

Maybe if they turn down a street, I can follow them, I thought and then realized that’s almost as bad as running after them, so I discarded that thought. Well, maybe I can call out. Normally, that’s fine… but I was so excited to see them after so long it was as if I had lost the ability to speak. It had been months since I’d seen them at this point.

With some sadness and all unused adrenaline leaking out of my system slowly, I watched them walk down their street but did not see what house they arrived at before I finally made it perpendicular to the street. With a sinking feeling in my spirit, I knew that would be the last time I would ever see them walking.

So far, I haven’t been wrong.

And the missed opportunity to say something has caused me to say kind and life-giving things to other people, even at the most inconvenient of times or places.

As a recent example, during the Stars and Stripes Picnic at The World War I Memorial on July 4, there was a lone woman who set out a blanket near us and she seemed to be by herself, but possibly waiting for friends.

I told my mom, “She’s really beautiful.” She had the prettiest and smoothest dark skin I’ve seen in a long time. My mom agreed, but I decided I was going to go a step further and tell her, regardless of what anyone thought.

So I walked over to her, knelt down in front of her blanket and told her how beautiful she is and that her skin seems to glow. I also complimented her bright orange nails because they definitely stood out against her skin tone, and after that, she seemed more at ease being by herself. (Eventually a couple of friends showed up, and I was glad to see she didn’t just go by herself)

In conclusion…

Every time I drive by that stretch of road/sidewalk near my neighborhood, I am still filled with a small glimmer of hope that maybe I’ll see the man with a new dog one day, if not with the three-legged dog. But for now, I try not to let the regret of all the missed opportunities I had to tell the man his impact in my life get me down. Instead, I use that as a lesson to try to impact other people’s lives by the way I live AND the words I use.