The Old Man and the Dog


Here is one of the stories in my book “The Silver Teacup.”  Every animal lover will enjoy it.


I read in a major newspaper that five dogs had received official recognition for their heroic feats and were inducted into a hall of fame.  The article reminded me of another dog that I knew as a youngster, whose deed would most likely be unsurpassed. The story went that Manuel, his owner, after his retirement from his job at the Zona Franca harbor in Cadiz, had found himself alone and bored. Darkened by faded-green shades, his apartment was on the first floor of the five-story building where his former coworkers and their families resided.  He spent most of his days in his family room in a rocking chair, falling asleep as he listened to the radio or moping his hours away. Hanging from the wall in his living room was a large picture of his late childless wife. She was dressed in black with a tight bun on the back of her head. Ten years had gone by since her death and looking at her still brought tears to his eyes. Sometimes he even confused the squeals of his rocking chair with the murmurs of his weeping. The place had a kitchen but he never cooked. His meals consisted of a can of soup or a sandwich with thin slices of mortadela, ham, or cheese. Sometimes he made coffee.  His small bedroom was in disarray, with sheets and blanket lying crumpled over a plain mattress. A sagging pillow was perched at the edge at the head of the couch, and a couple of cushions sat untouched on a chair ever since his wife left them there.  A strong reek of humanity hovered.

Read the entire story on “The Silver Teacup,” page of this blog.