Dances With Unintended Consequences

A dog adopted me when I was still living in Nema. When I showed her some small kindness on the street, she decided that my house would be a nicer place to live than a garbage heap (how much thought she had to put into it, I don’t know). It was a simple arrangement back then. When I was around, she was allowed in my yard. I would find her food every now and again, but she would use her own resources the rest of the time. If I left on vacation, she would be on her own. And she could follow me through town, if I wasn’t going to a meeting (she would always sneak into the conference rooms).

When I moved to Aleg, I brought her with me. While she had managed on her own well enough in my absence, I just didn’t have the heart to leave her. Since Mauritanians don’t love dogs, and children are allowed to stone them on the streets, I figured that she would be better off coming with me than staying on her own.

What I didn’t consider was that dog ownership is a responsibility. In Nema, it had been easy. She was a street dog who frequented my house. But as soon as I took her out of her zone, she became my dog. One that I had to feed every day instead of when I felt generous. I couldn’t just let her wander the streets anymore; she needed boundaries, a yard. She doesn’t always love the new boundaries, but she manages.

Since she’s now confined to a yard for most of the day, I have a new, completely unexpected responsibility- walks. Every morning, I get up early to take her for her walk around the town. And every evening, before dinner, I take her for the second run. A time to stretch her legs, smell things, eat rancid scraps that she finds on every corner (which keeps down her food bill). The biggest surprise is that she stays right by me, but I suppose that after spending the first year of her life on her own, she’s probably pretty grateful.

For the first few days of our walks, Bella and I would just stroll around town, take in the sights, and get a little exercise. But after a few days, the law of unintended consequences introduced a new variable- kids. Mauritanians, as I’ve mentioned, do not like dogs. Walking a dog is a bit like walking a wolf; everyone clears a path for the dog and wonders at my bravery, foolishness, or both. And children tend to hurl insults and stones at dogs, though which hurts Bella more, I’m not sure.

But they didn’t. The kids hurled neither stone nor insult. Instead, they greeted me. They greeted me with curiosity, and with wonder. And I found myself surrounded by children, none of whom wanted to touch the creature from bedtime stories that sent them into nightmares and screams- a dog, that sharp-toothed brute that runs like the wind and drinks the blood of small children. But I calmed them, and encouraged them. I showed them how gentle Bella is. And eventually, one of the kids plucked up enough courage to touch her- just barely- and then run back to the crowd. So another did. And another. And eventually, they were stroking her, and letting her sniff their hands. They didn’t listen to the words of prudence from the older women nearby; they had an adventure of which to partake.

And so I became a modern Pied Piper, the Nazirani Dog-Walker of Aleg, with a trail of twenty children following me to the ends of the town, entranced by this mystical dog that you could touch without fear of being bitten. Occasionally stopping to calm parents who were concerned about the activity, I led the children from one end of town to the other and back, and may again tonight.

Which begs the question- what is the next Unintended Consequence that Bella will unleash on me?