There are wild things lurking

I saw a large pit bull, puffed up and tough, ears clipped, a fierce and frightening creature, being held on a leash on the downtown Ashland plaza. The pit stared, and I looked back, and, though my friends dared not threaten the beast's space with eye contact, I smiled at him. He was a dog. I couldn't help myself. Then the pit got a little excited and started to wag his tail like a pup for just a moment. The ferocity of the show shattered, and I could not help myself again with a little coo, "Hey baby!" in puppy speak. That's when the leash bearer, whom a moment before was so dim I hardly bothered to register his existence, but after this gentle moment, turned his head and peaked the tiniest bit of elvish youth. He was homeless, there are many in this town, and my heart melted for his little rooz, for his impish grin as I cooed to his pup, revealing everything he tried to keep hidden, and will continue to hide, as wild things do. Clearly, if my little runaway's life made sense where he was before, he would not be hiding behind a dog so easily won over by a smile. So young, "Houseless, not homeless" he says to his companion as he puts the things he thinks he needs into a backpack and sticks out his thumb. I could have given him the cash in my wallet that I was about to spend at the bar, had I not been so selfishly wrapped up in keeping time with my friends. All I could do was smile and delight in that 3 seconds of trust glittering in his wild eyes. For all the following followers following followers I've done in my time, trying to find my place and my self, I realize that the truest story is the surprise when a wild thing spy's a wild thing.