Sox
Because we're so focused on high-profile evil in the world today, we may overlook an evil that's much closer to home.
Stealthed often by a quick smile or a cheerful greeting, this evil circulates in our lives on a daily basis. When we shop for groceries, do our banking, play bingo, or chat at the koffee klatch, this evil is often among us.
But, this evil never makes the front page or leads the "News at Eleven" as do acts of terrorism, drug-related crimes and child abuse, and so it usually goes about unnoticed — till, one day, we're victimized by it. Then we recognize it for what it is and clamor for justice.
Only, there is no justice to deal with this kind of evil, no legal retribution. Because, although this evil is marked by violence and inflicts an enormous sense of loss on all those who are affected by it, it is not unlawful.
It's the evil that lurks in the black heart of a serial dog shooter.
A case in point: Sox was a truly wonderful dog, far more human and humane than many people I know. And friendly to a fault. Everyone who knew Sox welcomed his presence. Especially the kids. In this very serious world, he brought bright smiles to faces wherever he went.
I'd take him with me when I went to schools to teach kids how to draw cartoons. Mostly he'd wait outside during the assemblies, but not always. Now and then he'd become part of the show as an "icebreaker" — you know, working his way through the kids, happily accepting their loving strokes on his head. And, as we'd drive away, the kids would call after him, "Bye, Sox!"
My grandson adored him, especially for the way he'd jump into the back of my pick-up when I hollered, "Load!" "Tell Sox to do it again, Grandpa," little Kirby would say. And, of course, the dog was only too happy to oblige.
Sox' most remarkable gift was the empathy he showed for other animals. I'd be sitting in my chair drawing, and he'd come over and begin pawing my leg. It was pretty bothersome till I figured out that this was his way of telling me that one of our other animals needed something — and he was the messenger. Oh, the cats need water? Oh, Pudgy wants to go out? I've never known a dog so concerned about the well-being of others.
A lot of people wanted Sox. Could have given him away in a New York instant, if I were so inclined. But, even so, he would've run away from them and come back to me. He proved it one afternoon, when he went sniffing around town and missed his ride home. I went back to find him the next morning, but no luck. Then that night he showed up on our porch — he'd come 25 miles.
Sox was shot on Saturday. Yep, the evil showed itself again, this time in someone who'd always been friendly to us. He didn't bother to tell me Sox was making a nuisance of himself. If he had, I would've done something about it — like, chain the dog up. I'd told the guy early on that he only had to let me know. But he didn't. He just killed him.
Guess I should have expected as much. Though I hadn't had any bad experiences with the guy myself, he's often referred to locally as a sociopath, when it comes to animals. Besides dogs, he likes to shoot local cats, they say, then haul 'em to town and show 'em off. Just rumors, mind you. But — now I'm feeling guilty for not taking those rumors more seriously.
Anyhow. I'm sad for Sox, and sadder yet for the loss of all the happiness he brought to people — to the school kids who won't have the pleasure of his company again. That's what this dreadful evil really does when it goes unchecked. In satisfying its perverse nature, it robs us of one of the things we value most in life — joy.
We'll miss ya, Sox.
— 30 —
— Barry McWilliam, Cartoonist Miles City, Montana
