SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue 1 - Journal - Page 89
SINE QUA NON
“Hey, Pal, you got a new friend there, hunh?”
Jimmy was looking right at me. He saw me. At last. And it felt like Heaven.
Of course I was too blown away to look back at Jimmy, so I focused on Pal. But I heard
Jimmy chuckle a few times and say things like “Wow” and “Whoa” and “Hey, Pal, how do
you like our new buddy, hunh?” Soon, I realized that Jimmy had invented a nickname for me.
And if Jimmy wanted to call me Buddy, I would be Buddy. That’s just how it was. That’s just
how I was. And who I was. Or who I would be from that day forward.
***
Jimmy and Pal and I met in the park like this for weeks, months, I don’t really remember.
Mostly mornings. Sometimes it was the evening, not the morning. Sometimes it was both.
Sometimes neither. Then one day I thought I’d like to take a peek at where Jimmy and Pal
lived. But heaven forfend that I bother him or look like I wanted anything—my fellow urchins
and I knew how vital it was to keep a low-maintenance profile—so I kept my distance. But
still, yup, you guessed it, I followed them home.
They lived not too far from the river in a nice residential area with one-story houses
that had small grassy yards in front and back, narrower side yards between houses. I ducked
behind a mailbox or something as they walked up to their front door and went in, but then
the strangest thing happened. A few moments later, Jimmy came back out the front door by
himself. Uh-oh, had he seen me? Apparently not, because he simply proceeded to the next
house along the street and walked in that second front door, alone. All of a sudden it struck
me—they didn’t live together. Pal was the neighbor’s dog!
My goodness, thought I, if someone could be so wonderful to a dog that wasn’t even his
own . . . well, what was not to love? Answer: nothing.
For some reason, to this day I don’t know why, I parked myself in front of Pal’s front
door for a while to listen. Then under the windows, one at a time, till I circled the house. You
see, I knew Pal had to be inside, but not a sound came out, not even after all the other front
doors on the street opened to children coming home from school or parents coming home
from work. No one came home to Pal.
Pal couldn’t have been an orphan like me, could he? He had a house, after all. So his
family must have been away. Poor fella. I mean, Pal was lucky to have Jimmy walk with him
and, I suppose, feed him. But no brothers or sisters around for the rest of the day?
Then, just as I saw the moon rise, I heard Pal through the wall, whether a whine or
a whimper I couldn’t say, I’m still not quite sure of the difference. Now, Jimmy did leave
an indoor light on, but still, that poor thing must have been suffering something dreadful.
Dogs are not meant to be alone. It's not in their nature. Somehow I could feel what he felt
through the walls and windows of his house. Jimmy was good to that dog, no doubt about
it, but you'd have to agree that I knew better than he did about this one matter. Still, how
was I going to tell the guy without coming across as bossy or know-it-all or whatever? Very
unattractive. Hm.
I thought of telepathy, but wasn’t sure it would work. So I listened to Pal’s whimperings
awhile longer, then I got an idea and started duplicating them myself, from his front stoop.
Soon we were whimpering in sync—and I know that dog heard me, because I could hear
him just on the other side of the front door. And he didn’t stop on my account. No, just the
opposite. He kept on whimpering, as if he sort of suspected what I had in mind, and that I
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