A Place to Belong

Life is savage.  The odd fairy tale may come along every so often but mostly, it’s pretty grim.  Well, that’s how my teenage years have been for me.

And it certainly was for the scrawny little fella that I stumbled across.  Tied to a post in a backyard, shivering in the rain, barely able to whimper let alone bark.

At least I’d been able to escape my abuse.  What chance did this poor little fella have?

Life on the street is not for the faint-hearted.  Never having a place to call home.  Not that I’d ever known what a real home was.  The fact I felt safer on the street was testament to that.

What are you thinking Logan?  I asked myself.  How do you expect to take care of a dog when you barely support yourself?

All I knew was that I’d never have slept that night if I hadn’t rescued that bedraggled little mutt now sharing my sleeping bag.  He’d wolfed down what little food I had and, as he snuggled his frail little body close to mine, we kept each other warm.

I named him Archie, after the arches at Waterloo Bridge we slept under.  But if I thought I’d be taking care of him, I was wrong, because the exact opposite happened.  Archie was like a magnet, attracting young and old alike.  I’d never sold so many copies of ‘The Big Issue’.

A regular customer was Margaret, an elderly widow.  She’d bring Archie little treats and stop and chat.  I learned you don’t have to be homeless to be lonely.  Archie would bark with excitement at the sight of her and her face would light up.

I think I knew then it wasn’t fair to keep him but it was hard letting him go.  He was a good friend… I didn’t have many of them.

Archie’s well looked after now, in his forever home with Margaret.

I miss him every day, but at least I still get to see him.  It feels good to know he’s found a place to belong.  I’m still searching for mine.