Husky Magic

November sunshine lit up the boat ramp on a weekday morning and turned Coos Bay the color of soft purple. Elmer and I had frolicked on the beach and my mind was set right to begin the day.

We ascended to the parking lot and I saw a 30-40-year-old Malibu sedan chipped, scratched and dented with almost artistic intent. Clearly, a mobile domicile for a homeless person. I see two or three new ones every morning at the boat ramp. Who are these people? Where did they come from? Where are they going? How do they keep their rigs running?

The vehicle was parked with a drive-in movie view of Coos Bay. The window was down and the driver’s profile revealed a man, with chiseled, almost gaunt features.

The man turned to me. Elmer and I were ten feet away.

“That’s a great looking dog,” he said.

“He’s a good dude,” I said.

I noticed the man’s face. Age? Indeterminate. No teeth. Meth scars. Great smile.

We went up to the window. I briefly shared the story of Elmer’s adoption from an animal shelter almost two years ago and how this dog had revolutionized my spirit and fitness and helped me fight off extreme depression in the aftermath of my father’s death.

The man rolled up his left shirt sleeve and revealed a massive tattoo of a Siberian husky on his upper arm.

“He was my best friend,” he said.

A thunderbolt struck me and I almost started crying but shifted instantly into teacher mode. (There’s still a little residue left inside me.)

“Get another husky,” I said. “The shelters are full of them. People got them as puppies in the Pandemic and then dumped them.”

I was conscious of raising my voice. I was practically preaching and I am a preacher’s kid!

You know what? Preaching to a homeless man about the virtues of adopting a husky felt damn good.

“Maybe I should,” he said.

I ripped off the name of three animal shelters within 90 miles.

“It will change your life,” I said.

We spent the next five minutes discussing the merits of huskies and the challenges of owning this energetic breed. They make you get off your ass and move. Maybe that’s what this homeless man needed. You care for a dog and maybe you can start caring for yourself. I’ve seen it dozens of times with homeless people.

It was time to leave.

“Go for it man,” I said. It was said as an exhortation, quite possibly a command.

I don’t know where it led. I’ll never know. I must trust the magic of huskies that it can help this homeless man.

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