When you need to be brave, but fail

MARCH 15 — I wish I had stolen a dog.

No, I wasn’t about to stage a heist on the nearest pet store or storm a puppy mill.

The dog I wish I had stolen was my neighbour’s.

One of my neighbours on the row behind my house, with whom I shared a back alley, had a beagle.

They used to have two dogs: one Spitz-like, sprightly black dog and a butter ball of a beagle that was a little tubby, with a dull coat that showed signs of neglect.

One day the black dog disappeared. Instead there was, I kid you not, a rooster.

I grew up with chickens being a constant presence in my neighbourhood so rooster crows and the sound of clucking were just pleasant background noise.

Still, I thought about the beagle a lot.

Mostly because my neighbours were loud, and screamed often, mostly at the dog.

Some old lady would alternately be cooing at the dog and then hollering abuse at it. Sometimes, that would happen in rapid succession.

It would happen nearly every day to the point I wondered why they bothered keeping a dog if its only function seemed to be something to yell at.

It bothered me but I felt it wasn’t my place to interfere considering there were times my pets exasperated me enough to cause me to yell.

No, I don’t shout at my dog every day.

Maybe I did, once, this year because he forced my spare door open to pee on my exercise mat, as the adorable sod is a little too clever for his own good.

Back to that beagle. For the past few weeks it had been barking at all hours. 8am, barking. 10am, still barking. 2am... you get the drift.

My neighbours also kept a lot of clutter in the back alley — a makeshift dog house made of zinc slabs (which would have been terrible to sleep in) and random odds and ends.

Most times I didn’t see the dog because it was obscured by all the junk.

Then one day I peeped out my bedroom window, which overlooked the back alley, and there I spotted the beagle, partially obscured behind even more junk.

What I saw was distressing. There was a huge wound on the dog’s leg and then I saw it try to move.

That was when I realised the dog could not walk.

It was dragging itself around on its two front legs, its back legs seemingly immobile.

The dull coat had become even more unkempt, obviously untended as though the dog hadn’t had a bath in weeks or perhaps months.

Instead of marching up to my neighbour’s house and asking them just what they were doing to the dog, I asked for help on social media.

By the time I got through to someone who knew just what I could do to help the dog (besides just yelling at my neighbour), two days had gone by and the dog, as well as my neighbours had suddenly disappeared.

Was it a coincidence? Did someone else report the cruelty that was obviously on show?

I will never know. It’s not like the dog left a forwarding address.

Oh, and the rooster? That disappeared long before the dog did. Maybe it got stolen or put in a pot.

The columnist wishes she had the courage to intervene for a dog that needed help. — Unsplash pic

At least it seemed happier than the dog was.

Wherever the dog is, I hope it’s in a better place and that someone was braver or kinder than either me or my neighbour.

Sometimes life gives you a test of courage. I failed mine.

Only thing I can do next time is learn to be braver in real life because it’s a sad thing that I am not afraid of politicians nor do I give a toss about law enforcement, yet I was too afraid to directly confront my neighbour when a dog needed it most.

So I will think long and hard before I call someone else a coward because I too have discovered the limits of my own courage.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.