By Brian Smith
Stray dogs aren’t rare in downtown Savannah. What is rare though, is seeing the same dog on the streets more than once. I know of one in particular; you may have seen him. He’s a brown Chow mutt with the snapped and jangling remnants of a leash dangling from his neck. My four roommates and I see him on a daily basis. We’ve dubbed him Chow, and he symbolizes the instinctual strive for pure, unattainable freedom.
At first we thought Chow only stuck around our block near Barnard and Gwinnett Streets. We saw him multiple times per day, often around dusk, sprinting across the vacant lot next to our house and down a nearby street out of sight. Then we started asking around. Chow’s been spotted at least 24 blocks away from our place and all over in between.
A few days ago, I was skateboarding down Barnard Street with one of my roommates when Chow stepped out of an alley in front of us. He stood in the sidewalk a few feet ahead, staring at me with his mouth shut and his tail still. I kneeled down, showed him my palm and said, “Hey Chow.” He blinked his eyes a few times, opened his mouth, turned and darted down the sidewalk away from me. I followed him.
He stopped again, a block ahead, and looked over his shoulder at me. His puffy tail wagged slightly. He looked like he was once professionally groomed. A tan Chihuahua launched down the steps of a nearby porch and took off after Chow, yapping. I didn’t see Chow until the next morning.
My roommates and I were standing in the kitchen eating breakfast when I saw Chow booking it through the lot. We ran to the porch and saw him dodge cars in the intersection and go behind some houses. At the other end of the block, a white pickup labeled Savannah Chatham Animal Control crept down the street. The empty cage in the truck bed rattled over every bump in the road. We sat down.
“Would you rather see Chow dead on the street — hit by a car — or being hauled off in that truck?” I asked.
“Dead on the street,” Andrew said. “I’d rather scoop his body off the pavement and bury him in the lot than see him go out like a chump in a cage.”
“Yeah, the pound would kill him anyway. He wants his freedom,” Houston said.
“How do we know what he wants? Maybe he just wants to get back to his owner?”
“But he snapped his leash — he chose to leave. We’ve all heard stories of dogs roaming across the state to get back home. Chow’s capable — he’s choosing to liberate himself.”
We didn’t see Chow for three days. On the third night, Andrew called me from across town.
“We just saw Chow. I was watching a movie and heard jingling outside. I pulled back the blinds and he was standing in the intersection under the streetlight. Then he ran down the street into the darkness. He’s still free.”
Why do we care about this stray dog? He’s turned into the focus of our house discussions. He’s an example of the undying spirit. He’s trashing the easy life for something more. He’s a stray dog inspiring a house full of humans.
