The Guy Who Always Walked His Dog

The world fit Bob poorly. I knew him--everyone knew him--as the guy who always walked his dog. Bob didn't seem to do much else. A neatly dressed, tall and slender man, Bob 'talked dogs' to a few dog lovers. But most of us, including me, viewed him as a silent, predictable presence in our neighborhood.

Until today, I didn't know where Bob lived. But someone pointed me toward his house. As I drew closer, it was easy to spot. Two cuttings of fresh flowers and a stuffed dog toy were tied around the mailbox post.

One week ago, as I discovered today, Bob shot and killed himself. He left a note in the mailbox of a kind and gentle neighbor. It didn't take long for her to figure out what he'd done. He also left a five-page letter specifying where his things should go and naming whom he hoped would take in his dog Walter. And he washed the car in his driveway--one he bought five years ago, never registered and never drove.

With Bob gone, I know more about him. He was 59 years old. Five years ago, he lost his job with the water department. His house was in foreclosure and the electric power was turned off. No one in the neighborhood knew that Bob barely existed. And he wouldn't take help from his siblings. They weren't close, it is said.

The dog lover who told me about Bob grieves for him. She said she wished she'd known--she would have paid a bill for him. But Bob needed a job, one that would let him keep to himself and give him time to walk Walter. And he may have needed treatment for whatever about him made him keep his distance. But jobs, of any type, when you are 59 years old are difficult to come by. And health insurance,  access to doctors or a willingness to even speak to one were probably well out of Bob's mental or financial reach.

Our loosely woven safety net of social services might have helped Bob. But in their kindness and efficiency, they would have wanted conversations with him. And Bob only talked about Walter. 

Bob picked up a loaded gun, took aim and accomplished his goal. He kept his privacy and our  neighborhood lost a good guy who walked his dog all the time.


And at www.mosquitonotes.blogspot.com: I stare at her intently, dreading the answer, yet compelled to ask, "Did you eat your babies?"