City Hall Business

I was standing outside City Hall, a four-story building weirdly stacked between a three level parking garage and Hwy 50. The best section of sidewalk in town gussies up the entrance to the oddly located structure. The concrete is pink.  Concrete planter boxes host blooming flowers all year around and a pad of bright yellow foot-Braille drapes a thoughtfully accessible curb. It’s probably the safest corner in town despite the entrance to the parking garage being so near.

Across the street, on unimproved sidewalk, an old man in a grubby padded jacket grasped a sturdy walking stick with one gloved hand and with the other, the leash of an ancient German shepherd who dragged behind as they shuffled in my direction. The dog’s rear haunches sloped down, as German shepherds’ sometimes do. They moved arthritically, his knitted beanie pulled low against the cold, the dog’s upright ears incongruously leading emaciated hindquarters. I heard the dog’s toenails drag and scrape in miserable time with the hobbling man’s walking stick.

When they reached the crosswalk, the pair unsteadily lowered themselves down the curb and onto Center St., heading toward the corner where I stood. I wanted to make eye contact with one or the both of them, but their heads hung low, eyes on the crudely patched asphalt street, which was marbled with icy fissures. Their progress was slow, but I was glad they didn’t have to climb up a curb on my side of the street. They passed me without a glance as I continued to emanate empathy –for their effort, for the cold, for their age. They were now on the smooth new sidewalk and so their journey surely was easier.

Indeed, the man did seem to step a little more lively as he tugged the crippled dog along. And then, without warning, a great brown turd dropped to the pink concrete. Another and on the next step, another, until finally the dog stopped walking and with dignity befitting his breed, lowered ancient haunches over the seasonal cyclamen to finish.

“That’s a fine boy,” said the man in a surprisingly strong clear voice.  He patted his dog’s head between the proud ears and slowly leveraged the walking stick to lower himself to his knees. He pulled a plastic Safeway bag from his ratty jacket’s pocket and carefully crawled into the planter box, then backtracked along the sidewalk on hands and knees to gather up his friend's City Hall business.