What you’re seeing in the photo above is the end of my attempt this morning to help this half-starved and lost pit bull. At this point we’re at St. Andrews and 36th, a couple blocks south of Jefferson, which is where I first sighted her a couple minutes earlier. We were both westbound on the boulevard on this rainy morning; me driving to work and the dog moving at a quick and furtive trot on the sidewalk looking way too skinny, scared and wet. I shook my head as I passed it, but then I saw some sort of tag on its collar and I remembered the baggie of dogfood, and spare leash I always carry with me just in case I can come to an animal’s rescue — be it temporary in the form of a snack or more permanent in the form of showing it some love and perhaps ultimately getting it back home or into a new one.
So far I’m batting zilch. Of all the stray critters I’ve encountered these past few months, one big dog on Venice Boulevard allowed me to pet it last week, but none have taken me up on my offers of food assistance — and this gal was no exception.
I accelerated to get ahead of her and pulled a left turn, parking southbound on St. Andrews. Grabbing the food and the leash I exited my truck and strode back to Jefferson where she approached me from about 100 yards away. I whistled and knelt down, but the pit did not see me at first. When it did, about 25 yards away, she immediately broke left into a strip mall parking lot to detour around me. I knew right then it was a lost cause but I tacked right and tracked her heading through the lot to its St. Andrews exit. A jerky treat that I held up got no interest whatsover. In fact the dog’s trot picked up speed when she saw I was in pursuit so in vain I pitched the treat in an arc that landed about a dozen feet from her exiting the lot, That only succeeded in spookingher and she galloped south on St. Andrews.
Perhaps I should have given up there. But the fact that there was a tag on the collar left me with a glimmer of hope that this dog may have guardians who are missing it as much as it’s missing them. Certainly such evidence doesn’t preclude the animal’s abandonment, but more often than not anyone dumping an animal will strip it of any identification.
So I hustled back to the truck and got inside, the object of curious and direct glances from the locals who looked on probably wondering what kind of crazy this white guy must be to be carrying nothing but a baggie full of kibble out in the ‘hood. And oh look, there goes the honkynut deeper into it.
Following behind the dog as it padded south, there was a split second after it crossed 35th and passed a female pedestrian at the corner, when it stopped and turned and regarded the lady obediently, but in a flash it had turned and again bolted down the street. Halfway down the block she stopped upon hearing me clucking my tongue at it and lingered long enough to let me dangle the baggie of kibble out the truck’s window and pour a bit out onto the street. Then she took off again and I lost sight of her behind some parked cars. Racing ahead and parking at 36th, I got out out with the kibble and crossed the street, pouring it in a little pile (it’s that brownish splotch on the sidewalk just to the left of the red section of curb) before retreating back to the truck in hopes that she would find it.
Instead the pit beelined it to the gutterbag you see its muzzle buried in, finding some bread there. I had time to take the pic before it had wolfed that down and — totally ignoring the mound of kibble — again bolted south on St. Andrews. I watched it until it got beyond my sight, never slowing down.
And I choked up putting a circle of love around it as I got back on my way to work.
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