On the Tracks

Recently, my drive to work takes me through our town in the early hours of the day. I make my way past the last stop lights and follow the horizon into the countryside and into the peach country of Edgefield County.

There are several small communities on the way. Fragile, forgotten businesses still hold to the past. Their windows are full of old advertisements… the worn storefronts all in need of a fresh coat of paint. I pass a handful of gas stations that serve breakfast and lunch for the migrant workers… they sit and stand in groups of three or four and speak in whispers.

The first week of my travels found me looking for the details of the journey. I drove through an area where there are peach orchards on both sides of the road… some fields with trees overflowing with ripe peaches and some fields holding their buds for a late summer crop. And that’s when I saw him… he was as dark as the night and stood on the side of the road. He was looking to the sound of my Jeep and I felt his eyes as I passed him by. I didn’t think much of him other than he seemed too close to the road…

Over the next few days, I looked for him and he would appear without warning in the tall grass near the road. Every time I saw him he was nearer to town and I realized he was on the move… but always looking at every car that passed. He looked healthy… his ears flopped at the tips and he walked with purpose.

I bought a small bag of dog food that night and kept it in my front seat. I kept my eyes on the sides of the road all the way to my job-site, but I didn’t see him… I wondered where he was and if he was safe. After several days, I had given up when I spotted him fifteen miles nearer to home. He was on the tracks…

I slowed to the side of the road and pulled his dog food from under my tools on the floorboard. The yellow bag was now wrinkled and worn, but it held his meal. He looked up as I approach... I gave him my nicest, puppy-talk voice and shook the bag of food. He stopped to study me. His eyes were sharp and steady and I could feel his anxiety. I opened the bag and made a pile on the worn and weathered timbers… some of the food spilled onto the gravel and I paused to pick it up.

He watched me intently as I moved back toward the road. I spoke in soft tones to encourage him as he lifted his head to smell the air. I sat quietly as he ate… the morning fog fell on us like a blanket.  We both made our way toward our destination just a little happier… I headed south on old highway 23 and he headed north on a path to a new day.

                                                                   Shannon R Killman