What I have in common with junkyard dogs.

The other day I was out taking a few photographs of a run down area near SF Bay, just south of the ballpark. The light was bad – it was mid-day – so I wasn’t able to get the shot I wanted, but on leaving I heard a WOOF. Peaking around the corner I saw a classic junkyard dog, a big, solid, black animal that looked like a mix of Pit Bull and Doberman. He saw me and barked again, putting his all into it and pointing his snout in the air, as though he were a howling wolf.

And I thought of myself.

I mean, we’re not that different. The dog and I are both trapped in situations we’d rather not be in. He, no doubt would prefer to run on the beach and terrorize seagulls, whereas I would prefer to escape my brain injury-induced dizzy state and get back out there in the world and participate fully (and maybe terrorize a few seagulls while I’m at it). But we’re both powerless to change our fates. Now, I don’t know what the dog has tried, but I’ve tried yoga, acupuncture, meditation, tactile stimulation (my BrainPort), hyperbaric oxygen therapy, etc., and while I am sure each has helped none had cured.

So I’m just going to have to make the best of a bad situation, which I try very hard to do every day. And I think the dog does the same. Because despite his bodacious bark and fearsome stance, he was doing one other thing with equally intense furry: wagging his tail.