His Dog

I call him smoochie-man; my sons do too. I’m not sure what his real name is and I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Our “relationship” would remain the same either way. You might also call him smoochie-man after reading this post.

He talks loudly and he sounds angry. It’s hard to tell if he is angry because he mostly speaks Kweyol and when he speaks English, I can’t understand that either. He sits on the porch across the street. Sometimes he argues with the neighbors but mostly he seems to argue with no one. He could be arguing with life. He doesn’t work. He has a medical condition.

He lives in a shed behind the house across the street that is abandoned and disintegrating. Recently, he was unconscious and laying in the street. He refuses to take his medication. The ambulance took him to the hospital and two days later he is back to his life sitting on the porch talking loudly to no one in particular.

When I come down the stairs there is a break in his routine. He smiles at me. It’s a wide smile. When he smiles there is life in his eyes. When he smiles, it makes me think about him differently. Who is this man? Does he have anyone who loves him? He must have had a mother who loved him.

There has only been one conversation between us. One day he asked if he could have the empty five liter water jug that I was throwing out. He pointed at it and said, “I put water”. He has no running water in his house, nor does he have electricity. He must carry water to his house from the public facility a block away. I save my empty jugs for him, placing them on the porch across the street when he isn’t there.

When I walk down the stairs, just for a second, there is sadness. But then he kisses the air – smooching his lips when he sees me; hence, his name smoochie-man. I always wave to him and quickly leave. He doesn’t bother me as he’s harmless.

When my sons came to visit, they were awakened by smoochie-man’s ranting in the middle of the night – talking to no one, just being smoochie-man. Then a few days later, Jay woke and said, “Smoochie-man’s dog kept me awake last night”. I tried to explain that he didn’t have a dog, but Jay insisted he did. He said the dog’s behavior was just too much like Smoochie-man’s not to be his.

At first I didn’t understand, but now I do. As I write this, it is three in the morning. The dog is on the porch of the abandoned house across the street…barking. He is barking at no one. He is loud. He sounds angry. Yes, this is definitely smoochie-man’s dog. Humm, I wonder if the dog would make smooching noises if I were to open the door and go downstairs.