Hey, Bulldog

Last Saturday night Barstow enjoyed one of those torrential downpours which makes the desert so delightful. Power knocked out, streets suddenly turned into rivers, cars stalling everywhere, sirens screaming all over the place.

It was time for me to cantor at church (I sing the 4 o’clock Saturday vigil mass at St. Joseph’s in Barstow) so I rode the little black pony downtown. As I pulled into the parking lot, the rain suddenly pelted me like it held a grudge against me. And I hardly said anything to it. Stupid rain.

I sat in the car–I was ten minutes early and the church wasn’t open yet–listening to Sirius XM’s Sixties Gold. I looked to my right and there, alone in the rain, was a small English bulldog. It was black and white and sat stoically in the downpour. It looked a bit like Winston Churchill without the cigar.

Some jerk had tied it to one of the poles by its leash. I looked around to see if said jerk was anywhere to be found, but the parking lot was deserted. Just me, the dog, and the torrential rain.

I took a deep breath. I normally don’t rescue dogs, but this sad pup was sitting in the rain, no way to get to shelter. Had I been able to get my hands around said jerk’s neck…well, let’s say no jury would convict me.

I got out of the car and walked over to the mutt. He looked up at me eagerly and wagged what was left of his tail. I was easily able to untie the leash holding him. I couldn’t figure out what to do with the beast, which was now jumping up on me in relief that some of the dreaded human race had come to get him.

I tried to put him in my car but he resisted. After some work, the beast finally tumbled into my floorboard.

I got into the car and looked over at him. He let his tongue wag a bit and got up on the seat to thank me. The dog was clean and well-fed, so I wondered what the heck he was doing out there. I also had to keep pushing him away, as he seemed to want to drive.

I couldn’t keep him, but I didn’t want to take him to the pound. I have a good friend who loves dogs–she has a massive brindled mixed breed–and I knew she wouldn’t have the heart to turn the dog away.

Sure enough, when I showed her the dog, she melted. (After gruffly asking what I was doing there on a Saturday when I should be in church) She agreed to keep the mutt till I could figure out what to do with him.

I went back to church, but the power was out and the vigil mass was cancelled.

So, I went back to my friend’s house. We went in her much larger car with her dog and the bulldog to get ice cream at Foster’s Freeze. The bulldog slurped the vanilla ice cream and had an expression on his face that he felt like he was in heaven.

My friend advertised on Facebook. The owner of the dog contacted her–evidently the beast had been missing for four months. Dog and owner and a few happy kids all reunited.

Still, I wonder who the heck tied that dog to the post at the church. I’d like to find that person and tie them to a post in the pouring rain. Then drive away.