man's best friend?

I can’t forget him, that man last night, at the Hermannplatz platform of the U7. He looked like a sheriff out of an old western, with a star shaped badge on his well worn jacket, and heavy boots . But instead of a cowboy hat, he wears a faded baseball cap, two dirty dreads snaking out the back. his beard is rough looking, jagged, it would sandpaper your skin off if you dared to touch it. But you wouldn’t dare, not just because of his countenance, but the company he kept.

Walking with him is an aging Doberman, mouth caged in a clunky muzzle. He looked miserable that dog, the saddest dog I may have ever seen. I suppose he would have seemed menacing otherwise. He was the size of small horse.

His owner, this urban sheriff, walked him with a heavy chain lead. Shook the chain forcefully, beat him against his neck as they walked the platform. The dog, unable to take it, began to limp. I wanted to cry out for the owner to stop.

I looked to the platform, so many onlookers, watching this pair.

All of us staring in that way you do when you ought to look away but can’t bring yourself to. Some more than others, disturbed by these actions that looked unwarranted, and cruel.

But then I have no idea of the backstory of that dog, the reasons for that muzzle.

I remember how one summer, for no reason whatsoever, my uncle’s dobermann, had turned violent on my aunt.

Very suddenly, without any provocation at all, the dog ripped a chunk of flesh from her thigh. With dogs like these, trained to attack, one never knows..

But walking into the train towards rudow, I find myself sitting along and across from this man and his dog. The chain lead is smashed into the dogs head once again, who stumbles a little, before crumpling onto the floor. He lays his head to the side, and his eyes look out into the distance.

And when I leave the train, I’m grateful for only needing to ride for one stop, and even more grateful, for not having to watch it anymore.