When I can't sleep...

This is what happens when I can't sleep all night and I've got writing on the brain. It needs some work (hey I typed it on my iPhone) but eh, here ya go.

He was homeless when I met him. Nothing to his name but memories of the past and some tattered blankets. Sometimes I would take him food. He was shy about eating it in front of me, I could tell. He would only nibble a it while I was there but it was always gone the next time I went to see him.

Everyone knew him. He was like a legend on the streets. An old veteren who had seen his fair share of the tougher side of life. When we would walk the allies and streets where he lived people would wave and call out to him. When we walked in my neighborhood people would usually just ignore him. If they did look it was with expresions of unease or disgust. He didn't like coming to my neighborhood. He had a sense of pride that sometimes gets lost in the desperation of the streets. It wasn't lost to him though, it seemed to be all he had left of whatever his life was like before.

I could tell he had come from money. He had the look of being well cared for at some point. He carried himself in a way that spoke of breeding and if grander days. I never found out how he came from that life to this one.

We used to sit sometimes. He liked to watch the cars. He would drift of to another world while we sat there. I knew he had seen things, had been around. I always wanted to ask him about it but I never did. I wondered if he wished things had turned out differently.

I tried to take him home a couple a times. He always ended up leaving. In a way it felt like he was meant for the streets, ya know? He was a kind of vagabond. After awhile I stopped trying. I stopped feeling the need to rescue him once I realized that he didn't want or need rescuing.

It rained the day he wad buried. I wa the only one there. Who knows where the people from his former life had ended up. It was an unemotional affair. I knew he would have wanted it that way.

I wish I had a picture of him. He taught me so much. I still go and visit him sometimes. It's a simple grave: just a small mound with a big stone at the head. I got in the habit of visitin the pounds after that. I would wander between the cages looking for a face that reminded me of his. None of them did. He was a one of a kind, that dog. He showed me the kind of unconditional love that is unique to animals, and he taught me how to be ok with who I am. I owe a lot to that stray.