|
There is this homeless man that has a dog that likes to crash in an old hunting shack in the woods near my house, when he isn't being run out by the state park police. I see him all the time walking his dog along the lake, and fishing in the nicer weather.
Last winter, I was in the closest gas station/grocery/tackle store (oh the joys of living on the edge of town) he walked in and grabbed a can of dog food and a can of spaghetti-os and walked up to the counter. I didn't hear the conversation as I was looking for a caffine fix, but when I approached the counter, he was sliding the spaghetti-os to the side and paying for just the dog food. He walked outside and opened it and let his dog eat.
I couldn't stand it, I bought him the spaghetti-os. He put up a bit of a fuss, saying that it was okay as long as his dog ate, but I insisted. He then took it and ate it immediately, thanking me.
I frequently leave canned dog food for him on his lake side path, in the hopes that he will use whatever money he has to feed himself. Sometimes I add a box of spaghetti-os, just so he knows it's okay. A few days after I do that, a driftwood carving appears on our dock.
|