It was a cloudy night. His stomach was empty and growling. He curled up on the curb, waiting for the sun to come out and at least give him with some warmth. In the neighborhood, he was known as a hungry nuisance. He was fed the leftovers whenever someone felt sorry for him.
When the sun finally came out and dissipated the clouds, he felt some relief. Life wasn’t so bad. He found half a sandwich in the trash, and it even had meat inside. He wasn’t starving, so it was a good thing. He was quick enough to scavenge his breakfast before the trash can was emptied.
His stomach was half full. He scratched off a few fleas and walked through the neighborhood hoping for a bit of kindness. Instead of getting kindness from humans, he found his best friend wandering early in the streets. And after sniffing each other’s behinds, he wondered why a well-fed and flea-free dog like his friend insisted on escaping every morning when his humans left for work.
But his friend tried to explain to him that the freedom of the morning dew and the desperate screams of his humans were reinvigorating, and that he would always return home to his fluffy bed. Being homeless was not something his fluffy friend understood. He did not understand that freedom without care was cold and hunger. Freedom without care meant fleas and ticks. Freedom without care was being kicked in the muzzle until you bled.
It was easy to think of unrestricted freedom when he had two humans working day and night to make him fat and warm at night. Leaving his rich friend behind, he headed toward the bar. Drunk men were masters at dropping food, and sometimes, falling on the floor themselves. If he was quick, he could eat enough for the whole day just by circling the same three drunk and angry men playing cards.
This time, however, it was different. An old man wearing a hat—and he hated hats—called him over.
‘Hey, boy, c’mon.’ The old man slapped his thigh and then snapped his fingers after downing a shot of cachaça. ‘Boy, c’mon!’
But he knew humans were not always reliable. He had lost a tooth trusting someone he did not know. At the same time, the man held a piece of fried chicken, the wing, and he loved wings. He approached the old man, who extended his hand slowly, and the dog gently took the chicken and ran away to eat it in a safe corner, between a mango tree and a motorcycle.
The old man chuckled, seeing the poor, skinny dog devouring the chicken wing in a split second and returning for another piece of meat.
‘Cícero, does he have a name?’ the old man asked the bar owner, who shook his head.
‘He’s a stray, wandering around spreading disease, do not feed him!’
‘It’s just a piece of chicken, look at him, so skinny, don’t you feel sorry for him? Bring me a pink egg and mortadella. A big egg! Last time the yolk was small!’
‘Do you think I control the insides of a chicken?’ Cícero grumbled, leaving to fetch the silly man’s order.
‘Come here, Caramelo,’ the man tried to pet the dog, but he did not budge. So, the old man in a hat waved another piece of chicken in front of the bony dog and only then did the dog accept the petting.
He sat down between the man’s legs and rested his body for a moment. The dog wondered if Caramelo would be his name. But unlike his fluffy friend, he knew he would not go home. The streets were his bed; the sky was the roof—and everything between them would try to attack and kill him. Caramelo was used to it. Caramelo knew the good life was meant only for fluffy dogs.
But the old man cut the pink egg with the knife from his belt and offered half to Caramelo. He lifted his muzzle, opening his mouth, ever so slightly, and felt the egg white slide before biting down on the hardened yolk. It wasn’t his favorite snack, but for someone like him, half a pink egg was a delicacy. Caramelo would never refuse food.
The old man cleaned his knife on his frayed shorts and put it back in its sheath. He drank his cachaça, opened his wallet and tossed some money on the table. He had to go back to work. Caramelo followed him as the man’s fingers still smelled like chicken.
‘Do not follow me,’ he said and patted Caramelo on his head. However, it was too late.
It didn’t take much for Caramelo to think the old man could also give him a warm bed and take him to get his fur washed and fluffed up. Or at least give him some chicken and half an egg sometimes. The old man scratched his beard, did some quick mental math and then chuckled.
‘Ok, you’re coming, I gave you a name, didn’t I? It’s my fault. I am Luiz, come then.’
Luiz had a little workshop beside his house, a small door behind which he fixed bikes and motorcycles for a living. In their small and dusty city, he was the go-to old man. Children would stop after school to pump up their tires and line up in front of Luiz’s workshop.
Caramelo knew he did not have the life of his friend, but in front of the workshop he had a corner under a roof to sleep. One child even brought him a toy. Caramelo did not understand the utility until he bit it the first time and felt his teeth and gums massaged by the squeaky rubber. Luiz fed him twice a day and even gave him an old bowl.
On a rainy day, Caramelo was allowed inside the garage. Luiz laid a blanket downand a cushion for him. Caramelo curled up and was tucked in. This rain, however, brought evil. It was common knowledge cats could see spirits. But Caramelo and other dogs could as well, and from under his fluffy blanket he felt a malevolent presence. Before opening his eyes, Caramelo bared his teeth and growled.
He jumped up and started barking, foaming at the mouth. The presence stopped in front of him, but Caramelo did not back down. Now that he had a roof over his head and a blanket, he would fight not to lose them.
Luiz came out, in his pajamas, holding a machete. He trusted his boy, and as he turned the door handle, he heard footsteps outside. Luiz lifted his machete and screamed. The invader, hidden behind his 1984 Gol, threw a bottle that fell and shattered into a thousand pieces right in front of Caramelo.
‘Stay back, Caramelo. I’ll handle this like a man.’
But the problem was that Caramelo’s gift wasn’t just sensing energy, but also foreseeing the future. He saw two shadows, but there was only one person behind Luiz’s tan car. While Luiz confronted the first man, Caramelo jumped over the broken glass, but he landed with his left hind paw on a shard of glass. He was familiar with the feeling.
He ignored the pain and the blood and waited for the second shadow to materialize. It did not take long for Caramelo to spot a large ankle to bite into. He buried his large teeth into the man’s leg, and the man screamed and tried to beat the dog with a club. But Luiz arrived with his machete dripping with blood to help Caramelo.
‘Do not hurt my dog!’
He could not. The attacker was on the ground, gushing blood.
Luiz disappeared inside the house to speak on the phone, and Caramelo heard it. He went to hide, limping with the glass shard stuck in his paw. Angry men with sirens and colorful lights arrived. Ambulances too. The invaders were treated and taken away. Luiz and his wife attached and turned on a hose, washed the blood, and swept up the glass shards from the floor in silence.
Only in the morning, when Luiz called Caramelo to eat and he did not come. He noticed that his beloved dog was hurt in a corner. He threw a blanket over the back seat of the car and then gently laid Caramelo down on it. He drove slowly, his hands trembling. Old Luiz could stand to his dog hurt.
He stopped in front of the clinic. Caramelo knew it was the fancy place his friend went to. Everything was a blur for Caramelo. Many hands touched him, as they looked inside his mouth, ears, and even his ass. He slept, and when he woke up, there was a bandage wrapped around his paw.
This time, when Caramelo returned home, he was welcomed with a party, a big steak, and a fluffy bed next to the sofa. He watched Luiz taking off his hat and scratching his head, trying to hold back his tears. Dona Rosa, his wife, was crying. Caramelo had saved them from the most dangerous family around. If it weren’t for Caramelo, they would be dead.
After Caramelo got his stitches removed, Luiz took him to the pet shop for a bath. His friend was there, unfazed, while Caramelo looked at every light, every toy, and ate every piece of kibble he was offered.
*
‘Jellybean, look at me! I am here!’
‘Hi…I didn’t know dogs like you were allowed in such refined spaces.’
‘I thought you would be happy for me, Jellyb.’ Caramelo sighed.
‘Uh…I like to keep my friendships separate.’
*
But Caramelo did not curl up to hide in shame—he had nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, he had earned the veterinarian ass search, and now, the bath with a fluff. Dogs like Jellybean believed in meritocracy, but when someone worked hard and achieved something, he absolutely hated it!
Caramelo instead got up, smiled at every human that petted him, and wagged his tail. He claimed his cage with happiness and poise.
He was placed into a large sink, where the water was warm and the shampoo smelled like tutti-frutti. He enjoyed the massage and watched the brown water with tiny six-legged dots washing away. The lady applied a second round of shampoo while she sang to Caramelo and petted him.
He was towel-dried and then blow-dried. He was a king. For Luiz, Caramelo was a king. He came home and this time he was allowed on the sofa too. Caramelo earned it. The shadows knew Caramelo would never let them in again.
