Sometimes You Just Can’t Help It

First published in the print column Strictly Haresay

We all know what the road to hell is paved with, and most of us have at least one story that illustrates the point of someone’s good intentions going wrong. I happen to have several, but recently I was reminded of one story in particular.

It was a cold, late-winter day several years back, when this starved, half-grown stray pup appeared on our doorstep. Feeling sorry for him, I did what no one should ever do: I fed him. 
This, as any idiot knows, immediately, and quite officially, makes him my new dog—further solidified by the witnessing of this act by my then-young children.

I can’t remember what name we initially gave the dog, and I won’t mention here, among polite company, what he soon after came to be called. But suffice to say, taking him in was like inviting a fox into the proverbial henhouse. Except this fox wasn’t hungry; he had an insatiable appetite of a different variety.

Nothing was safe or sacred. If it moved, that twisted case of a canine was on top of it. Just leaving the house was risking a surprise attack that could leave you dragging a leg until you reached your vehicle. The barn cats soon became self-confined to the haymow. Our other dog never moved from where he sat with his back to the side of the house. (Yes, this really happened.)

The final straw was the day I came home to find our hump-happy hound piggybacking our once proud and brightly plumed rooster in the gravel of the drive. 
Rocky was never quite as cocky after that. 

The sad ending to this story—and the dog—happened not long after that particular violation, when he was run over by a truck. See, he liked chasing cars, too, though I suspect he was just attempting to run down larger conquests. I guess I’ll never know. But my point here is: I’ll bet we all have a story about someone or something we tried to help. Perhaps in a moment of glowing idealism we thought we could be the shining star and save the day, or maybe, like me with that dog, we see someone in need and try to give what we think will help—only to have it backfire in our face. 

While I continue to keep an open mind and heart toward those in need, I’m not as eager to jump to the rescue as I once was. I’ve learned that, with a few rare exceptions, everyone is living out the consequences of their own choices, and there are definitely lessons to be learned by this arrangement. Sometimes the one that appears to need help, doesn’t want help, or isn’t at a place where he’s ready to receive it. Sometimes our urge to save another speaks more of our own wounds than theirs.

At the end of the day, I guess the tricky part is knowing when to take in the stray, when to call animal control, and when to bar the door and reach for the shotgun.