I met it during that rainstorm in Arizona. I was driving to California to spend two weeks alone. During that time, I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t even feel like talking. The rain pounded on the roof of the car. I pulled into a gas station by the side of the road to wait out the storm. As soon as I parked, I saw it.
A yellow stray dog was lying next to the gas pump. Soaked all the way through. But its eyes were fixed on me. I bought a bag of beef jerky, squatted down, and offered a piece to it. It sniffed it, took it in its mouth, and ate it. Then it stood up and shook the water off its body, splashing my pant legs. I cursed under my breath. It looked at me. Its tail started wagging.
The rain showed no sign of stopping. I leaned against the car. It lay down by my feet. The store clerk came out to smoke and said the dog had been wandering around here for a few days. When the rain let up a little, I opened my car door, ready to leave. It stood up and looked at me. It didn’t bark. I watched in the rearview mirror as it stood in the rain, its tail no longer wagging. I put the car in reverse. I backed up. I opened the passenger door. It jumped in and lay down on the seat.
Later I realized something. That day, I didn’t pick it. It picked me. I had always thought I liked traveling alone and didn’t need any emotional ties. But that dog showed me that being alone and being lonely are two different things. When someone travels with you, the scenery really does look different. Now it sleeps on a dog bed in my kitchen. Every morning, it nudges my hand with its wet nose. I still like being by myself. But I no longer think that being alone is all there is. We spent most of that drive in silence anyway. The apartment feels less empty now.
