after all：毕竟，终究
造__________________
无辜的流浪者
Innocent Homeless
洛里·S. 莫尔 / Lori S. Mohr
The hastily scrawled sign on the crumpled cardboard read： BROKE—NEED DOG FOOD. The desperate young man held the sign in one hand and a leash in the other as he paced back and forth on the busy corner in downtown Las Vegas.
Attached to the leash was a husky pup no more than a year old. Not far from them was an older dog of the same breed， chained to a lamppost. He was howling into the brisk chill of the approaching winter evening， with a wail that could be heard for blocks. It was as though he knew his own fate， for the sign that was propped next to him read： FOR SALE.
Forgetting about my own destination， I quickly turned the car around and made a beeline back toward the homeless trio. For years， I've kept dog and cat food in the trunk of my car for stray or hungry animals I often find. It's been a way of helping those I couldn't take in. It's also what I've used to coax many a scared dog off the road to safety. Helping needy animals has always been an automatic decision for me.
I pulled into the nearest parking lot and grabbed a five pound bag of dog food， a container of water and a twenty-dollar bill from my purse. I approached the ragged-looking man and his unhappy dogs warily. If this man had somehow hurt these creatures or was using them as come-ons， I knew my anger would quickly take over. The older dog was staring up at the sky， whining pitifully. Just before I reached them， a truck pulled up alongside of them and asked how much the man wanted for the older dog.
“Fifty bucks，” the man on the corner replied， then added quickly， “but I really don't want to sell him.”
“Is he papered？”
“No.”
“Is he fixed？”
“No.”
“How old is he？”
“Five. But I really don’t want to sell him. I just need some money to feed him.”
“If I had fifty bucks， I'd buy him.” The light turned green， and the truck sped off.
The man shook his head and continued dejectedly pacing the sidewalk. When he noticed me coming in his direction， he stopped walking and watched me approach. The pup began wagging his tail.
“Hi，” I offered， as I drew nearer. The young man's face was gentle and friendly， and I could sense just by looking in his eyes that he was someone in real crisis.
“I have some food here for your dogs，” I said. Dumbfounded， he took the bag as I set down the water in front of them.
“You brought water， too？” he asked incredulously . We both knelt down next to the older dog， and the puppy greeted me enthusiastically
“That one there is T.C.， and this one's Dog. I'm Wayne.”The sad， older dog stopped crying long enough to see what was in the container.
“What happened， Wayne？” I asked. I felt a bit intrusive， but he answered me directly and simply. “Well， I just moved out here from Arizona and haven't been able to find work. I'm at the point where I can't even feed the dogs.”
“Where are you living？”
“In that truck right there.” He pointed to a dilapidated old vehicle that was parked close by. It had an extra long bed with a shell， so at least they had shelter from the elements.
The pup had climbed onto my lap and settled in. I asked Wayne what type of work he did.
“I’m a mechanic and a welder，” he said， “But there’s nothing out here for either. I've looked and looked. These dogs are my family； I hate to have to sell them， but I just can’t afford to feed them.”
He kept saying it over and over. He didn’t want to sell them， but he couldn't feed them. An awful look came over his face every time he repeated it. It was as if he might have to give up a child.
The time seemed right to casually pass over the twenty-dollar bill， hoping I wouldn't further damage his already shaky pride. “Here. Use this to buy yourself something to eat.”
“Well， thanks，” he slowly replied， unable to look me in the face. “This could get us a room for the night， too.”
“How long have you been out here？”
“All day.”
“Hasn’t anyone else stopped？”
“No， you’re the first.” It was late afternoon and quickly getting dark. Here in the desert， when the sun dropped， the temperature would dip into the thirties.
My mind went into fast-forward as I pictured the three of them going without even a single meal today， perhaps for several days， and spending many long， cold hours cooped up in their inadequate ， makeshift shelter.
Seeing people beg for food isn’t anything new in this city. But this man stood out because he wasn’t asking for food for himself. He was more concerned with keeping his dogs fed than with his own welfare. As a pet-parent of nine well-fed and passionately loved dogs of my own， it hit a deep chord in me.
I don’t think I’ll ever really know what came over me at that moment， inspiring me to do what I did next， but I just knew it was something I had to do. I asked him if he'd wait there for a few minutes until I returned. He nodded his head and smiled.
My car flew to the nearest grocery store. Bursting with urgency， I raced in and took hold of a cart. I started on the first aisle and didn’t quit until I reached the other side of the store. The items couldn’t be pulled off the shelves fast enough. Just the essentials， I thought. Just food that will last a couple of weeks and sustain their meager existence. Peanut butter and jelly. Bread. Canned food. Juice. Fruit. Vegetables. Dog food. More dog food (forty pounds， to be exact). And chew toys. They should have some treats， too. A few other necessities and the job was done.
