"The woman with the big white dog took Sweetie," people told me. I couldn't place her, for no good reason imagining a fluffy dog. But, yes, it's the woman who rescued a white pit bull from He`eia; Lilith and I have to navigate around her and the dog, who pulls hard. She told me about her white dog once, her voice gentle. "She's a real animal lover," the property manager told me, "spends thousands of dollars on cats. She asked if she could take Sweetie over a year ago, but the guy said no."
Mary (for that might be her name) took Sweetie to the vet, the manager told me. She's healthy, except that she's supposed to weigh 60 pounds and she's down to 40. (She looked like a camp survivor when I last saw her, her haunches nearly fleshless, her ribs protruding.) The Humane Society talked to the man who'd neglected her for over an hour the other day. Perhaps there was a fine. Apparently, there's only one person who does this work on the whole island, the manager said.
On our way home, Lilith and I decided to find Sweetie's new person. We were walking beside the next parking lot up, when we saw Sweetie's old "owner." I'd spoken to him last week, telling him I was fond of his dog, was very worried about her. He'd spoken to me with a faint smile on his face. This morning, as he came toward us in his emergency lime green vest, wearing that faint smile, I said, "did Sweetie find a new home?"
Mr. Faint Smile walked by us, uttering not a word.
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