(This story is reality-based fiction)

When I saw her that summer day, she greeted me with a goofy kind of exuberance that seemed terribly out of place for someone in her situation. She worked security at a junkyard where I sometimes went in search of car parts. I thought it odd that the owner entrusted his pile of junk to this particular character.

According to the man who ran the place, her apparent affection for me and the excitement she showed to me was very much out of character for her. He described her in the harshest of terms, using words such as “mean”, “nasty” and “vicious.” Had she been anyone else, his comments might have been grounds for a lawsuit but her meager position didn’t allow her the luxury of lawyers or anyone else who might be in a position to advocate for her. So, she performed the work that was expected of her, day in and day out, growing meaner and more vicious to everyone but me with each passing day. If she had displayed this attitude anywhere else, surely she would have been fired but the junkyard staff had actually gone out of their way to cultivate these traits in her, often boasting that she was the meanest damn junkyard dog around. True, she was a dog – a very large mutt. There is a difference between viciousness and anger. This was an angry dog.

She was a large, intimidating mass of muscle, fur and teeth. Her beautiful blue eyes seemed a stark contrast to her dirty gray fur and grease stained haunches.

This dog and I had reached a very amicable agreement many months before. I was under the hood of a truck removing the fuel injector assembly when she approached me and snarled. Startled, I hit my head on the inside of the hood then froze there, staring back at her as she continued to snarl. As a child, I had learned never to ever flee from an angry dog, so there we stood, each frozen in place as if daring the other to move first. I spoke to her in a very low, reassuring voice, “Easy girl.” Slowly reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the insurance policy I had brought along. I dropped the piece of jerky onto the ground and remained very still. She lunged forward, grabbed the jerky in her teeth and settling onto the ground to eat it. Her snarling ceased and as she enjoyed the jerky, I continued to talk to her. The muscles in her faced relaxed as she listened and watched me. Then she got up and walked away as though nothing had ever happened. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I watched her until she disappeared into the rows of cars in the distance.

Not many women frequented this junkyard. I had been retrieving parts from junkyards for the past nine years and for as long as I could remember; I had been encountering junkyard dogs. Theirs was a difficult existence. They were often not given shelter from the heat in the summer or the bitter cold of winter. Instead, they were expected to crawl under one of the old cars to escape the elements. Their water buckets were often empty or partially filled with slimy, stagnant liquid consisting of a mixture of water, bacteria, mold and dirt. Many spent their days attached to thick chains, on which they would revolve until a deep semicircular indentation wore into the ground. When it rained, these semicircles would fill with water, forming a muddy pool. During the winter, they filled with snow, which would eventually turn to a semi-frozen, brown sludge. I tried not to look or even acknowledge the dogs in the semicircles. Their existence haunted me. They deserved better. I felt certain of that but I was also certain that I couldn’t give it to them. They needed help from someone bigger than me – animal control, a humane society – someone, anyone but me.

This was a rural area and there wasn’t a humane society or animal shelter within seventy miles.

At the very least the dog deserved a name, so I began calling her Jolie. Her situation was similar to that of so many other junkyard dogs that I had encountered. The only difference was that Jolie had never been chained.

As I left the yard that day, I cautiously watched for any sign of the dog that had confronted me earlier. I didn’t see her at all as I put the parts into my truck and drove away.

It was January when my boss sent me to the junkyard again. As I got out of the truck, I saw her watching me from her position nearby. My heart dropped as I stared at the muddy semicircle that she had worn into the ground. Her chain was attached to her neck with a padlock. As I moved closer our eyes met. She just laid there and didn’t bother to get up or move closer. I whispered her name and asked “Why did they do this to you, Jolie?” She continued to stare blankly as she lay there in the mud. Her beautiful blue eyes had faded and the life that I saw in them before was gone. Her spirit was broken and mine ached for her. I composed myself and walked away. I had a job to do and I’d better get to it. My boss expected me to be back in an hour.

As I entered the office, the owner asked me if he could help me. “Yeah, I need an alternator for a 1995 Ford Explorer.” As he searched the shelf, I casually inquired, “So, what’s up with that mutt out there?”  He grumbled, “She’s been scaring the customers so I had to chain her up. Dogs don’t do much good around here anyway” “Hmmm,” I responded, “She’s not doing much guarding on the end of that chain.” He found the alternator and began writing the sales ticket. “Anything else?” he asked. “Yeah, I’ll take the mutt.” I replied. He smirked and asked me why in the world I would want that worthless mutt. Being a female sometimes has its advantages in situations like this and I explained that someone had tried to break into my house a few nights before and I’d feel safer if I had a big mutt to protect me. It was a lie. A big bald-faced lie but I delivered it in a pretty package, complete with a delicate pink ribbon. He just stood there and looked me over. “That’ll be $25.00 for the dog. Nothing’s free around here.” he growled. My heart sunk. I had exactly five dollars. “How much food does that dog eat every week? She’s costing you money. I’ll give you five dollars.” I countered. He frowned and reluctantly added five dollars to the sales ticket.

He followed me outside to unchain the dog but realized he didn’t have a key for the lock and went back inside the office to retrieve a set of bolt cutters. He cut the chain and handed it to me. Despite my attempts to coax her to follow me, Jolie just sat there. She didn’t budge. “C’mon Jolie. Let’s go.” I beckoned. She stood up and followed me slowly to the truck. As I opened the door, she came to life again and launched herself onto the seat. I climbed in beside her and started the truck. “It’s okay girl.” I said as I put the truck in drive. “I think we’re both going to be just fine now.”

Sleep came easy that night as Jolie slept on the floor beside my bed. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt an incredible sense of satisfaction come over me. I had become someone – someone bigger than I ever imagined I could be.