Hands

Hands. The ones I know are mean and rough. Hands that grab and shake and hit. Hands that pull on my tail and ears. It is so cold and dirty where I am. The hands throw things at me that are supposed to be food, but someone else always gets them first. So cold. So hungry. We are so crammed together in here but each one alone.

Those hands are taken by other hands and put in cold metal bracelets. Then other hands come into where we are. We are afraid. The hands we know punch, pinch, and scruff.

But wait, these hands are different. They wait. They are patient. Do I dare? I take a timid step forward. These hands smell different. The hands reach for me, I draw back. The hands stop and wait. I reach out again and sniff the hands. The hands touch me, gently. They begin to pet my head, carefully. The hands reach my ears. What is that? Scratching? What a wonderful thing! The hands begin to pet further down my back, checking me for injuries and disease. Finding none, they continue to pet. What is happening now? My tail, what is it doing? It’s wagging! These are wonderful hands. Oh, please take me with you!

They are! A car ride! I have never felt the wind in my ears as I do now. I let my jaw slacken and my tongue pants happily in the wind and my nose smells the scents. Oh, the scents!

We are slowing down and stopping. A building that smells like other animals. Uh oh. I don’t want to leave the car. But the kind, patient hands are back, coaxing me this time. I creep out of the car and slowly go into the building. There are more hands that check me and poke me and prod me. But they are gentle still.

In the car again! We are pulling up to another house. Oh no. I don’t want to get out, I’m so scared that this dream ends here. But the hands are gentle and patient and wait for me. I slowly go with them. This place does not smell like other animals.

Inside and in a bath! I do not like the water running through my coat but it is warm and the hands are scrubbing all of the dirt and scum away from me. They scrub and wash and soap and suds. They rinse, then pet and pat me dry.

They show me downstairs to a bowl full of deliciousness! Oh, it smells so good! “Just for me?” I ask. When I am finished the hands are waiting for me with a ball! And it squeaks! I love to play and wrestle with those hands!

Those hands open a door to the backyard. Oh no, I think. This is where it ends. I meekly look outside, but I see nothing. Nothing but grass. No kennels, no cages, no mud, no other animals. Just grass, so much grass! The hands throw the ball and I run as fast as I can after it to bring it back. Maybe the hands will throw it again? They do! The hands throw it again! I love this game.

We play this game forever, but not long enough. Those hands clap together that I might come and follow. We go back inside for another bowl of deliciousness! Another bowl just for me?

When I am finished, I do not see the hands. Where did they go? I walk into the next room and find the hands on the couch reading a book. I inquire if I might join the hands on the couch and they give an affirmative pat on the seat next to them. I gladly jump and curl up next to those hands that rest upon my head and scratch my ears again. I love these hands.

The hands of my rescuer.