My favourite dates come from Sukkari, and they were running out. Time to buy some more.Off-season in Calgary — that is, after Ramadan — you can only purchase them from Basha International Supermarket in the northeast, the bastion of our Asian and Middle Eastern immigrant community.
As I alighted from my car at Basha’s, a dog barked at the other end of the car park. He was a beautiful, honey-coloured Labrador, attached to a long sky-blue nylon rope. No owner was in sight. Despite his lengthy leash, the dog wasn’t leaping as far as he could go. It was as though he were barking to alert his master. Beside the dog lay a large plastic bowl of water and another of food. The Labrador appeared quite alone. Where was his master?
The beautiful dog — and his circumstance — drew me towards him. The nearer I got, the more he barked. Closer still, I noticed the bench beside him was overlaid with a thick, heavy sleeping bag. A step nearer, a zip at the top suddenly opened. A head popped out, then the rest of his body. I took out a $20 bill and handed it to the man.
“For your dog.”
I couldn’t imagine how this homeless white man could afford to feed his dog. Yet the dog appeared to be in excellent health. If anything, he looked overweight. His master, on the other hand, was a mere skeleton, his ribs sticking out. The man was six feet tall — well over my five-foot-four-inch rotund body. His thin arms were covered in tattoos, his red hair in strands running in every direction. The man must have been in his early thirties.
I panicked and began to retreat, having second thoughts that the man might be a druggie, angry at being disturbed.
Instead, he thanked me and asked my name. Normally, the homeless shy away from conversation, grasping whatever donation is offered and immediately hiding it deep within their clothing.
The man made some space beside him and beckoned me to sit. He ordered his dog to be quiet, which the animal did without demur.
“That’s Bruno — after Bruno Mars. I’m Darrell. Do you want to see a trick?” Darrell asked. He held his arms wide open. “Come, Bruno.”
The dog barked with joy and leapt into Darrell’s arms. He was so large that he covered his master’s face, head, and much of his body down to his shins. Despite their suffering and reversal of fortune, they were happy.
“I had a lawn-care business. Expanded rapidly. Ran out of funds to cover receivables. The bank closed me down.”
He let go of Bruno. “I love lawn-care work. Never get tired of it — summer or winter.”
He looked at me. “Are you a Filipino?”
“No, an East Indian.”
“My wife came from New Delhi. She was the most precious thing I had. Lost her. Lost everything — including our home.” But there was no maudlin sentimentality about him. It was all stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Darrell, can’t you find a social worker to help you get money from the government? How about an apartment? I know the shelters won’t allow you in with a dog. How are you going to survive winter outdoors?” It was already October. Snow blizzards and wind chills were around the corner here in Calgary — the Siberia of the North.
“Don’t worry. It’ll all turn out fine. I was run over by a motorist a year ago. The insurance settlement is due next week. We can get an apartment and restart my business before winter hits.”
Still standing, Bruno at his feet, with one hand Darrell pointed to his head, with the other, he thumped his chest.
“Heart and mind,” he exclaimed. “You can’t survive without the two. Once we settle, I’ll reunite with my wife.”
What right did this man have to be so confident and optimistic?
I walked back to Basha’s and came out bemoaning the increased price of my favourite dates.
