A Country Not Your Own

chapter 4 Nachum

Chapter 4 

Nachum

The thought is kind of shoved to the back of my mind as I turn back to my quarry: the dogs. They are everywhere, but most of them lie in the sleeping area. They look at me with curious brown eyes, twenty pairs of them.

"Hey, dogs," I say, not quite sure where to start.

Maybe I could start with cleaning because the place is a mess, and let's not even talk about the smell. Great, just when I got clean again. I pull my hair back in a ponytail and grab the big broom in the corner. The dogs continue to watch me, maybe deciding if they should attack or continue to sleep.

I clean the place in front of the entrance, and as I get closer to where the dogs lounge, they became more restless. They show their fangs and watch me. One dog has one brown eye and one yellow eye with a grey muzzle; I figure he is pretty old. He is the size of a bear!

After I finish sweeping and put the waste outside, I look for a mop. All I can find is an old rag near the sink, so I wet it and begin trying to scrub the walls and the floor. After I am completely finished, I have to admit the place looks way better than before; but the smell is still horrible. I think maybe if I wash the dogs, it will ease the horrible smell, but that isn't going to happen because the dogs are still growling at me. Are they trained to kill Jews specifically or just strangers? Do Jews have a certain smell that stands out from other races?

I look at the bedding; that would be holding the smell. I approach the dogs, and they scatter to the feeding room and watch me. I begin picking up the ragged blankets one at a time. As I grab one of the thickest blankets from the corner I hear a broken growl that makes me drop everything for fear my hand will not come back the same. When I recollect myself, I touch the blanket again. Once again, I am met by a disapproving snarl and nothing more. As I lift the blanket, another dog is revealed.

He looks like a Jew back in the barracks with all of his bones showing only covered by white fur probably infested with mange and fleas. He looks at me with beautiful golden eyes that beg for pity and mercy. One of his eyes has a pink scar above it, and I wonder if he had been kicked or cut. Why is this dog so skinny and neglected?

I reach my hand out to him and look at his collar so that I can maybe learn his name or something. He cringes, but he does not bite. The name on his tag says "Jew."

Now I understand. This dog is treated like a Jew because he is different; he is an outcast dog. Like me he understands that life is full of cruelty and there is no such thing as a happy ending.

"Come on."

He refuses to stand up at first, but when I keep insisting, he makes the effort to stand. He is nothing but a thin statue of bones; I wrap him in a blanket and with all of my strength, I lift him. Right now, he is my size. I take him to the sink in the supply room and turn on the water. He just watches me; he is shaking, and he has no strength or will to fight; he is like one of us Jews (putting all differences aside, to be honest and not to degrade my people).

I wash out the rag I had 

used to clean up as best I can and look in the cabinet under the sink to find some dog shampoo. The dog isn't too thrilled about the water, but he tolerates it; I cover him in shampoo. I wash and repeat...and repeat and repeat. Dead fleas litter the floor along with some other bugs. After a while, the dog finds it necessary to stand, and this makes it much easier to dry him off. He is shaking even more because the water is cold. I get a brush and begin brushing his wet coat, now fully white and not covered in dirt. He sits like a perfect gentleman while I tame his fluffy fur.

As his fur becomes smoother, I notice his collar again and the fur around it. I try to raise his collar, but it will not come up; and the dog yelps. I cannot see where his collar begins or ends. I try to separate the collar from his skin again, but he yelps and snaps.