No matter how much good is in the world, I suspect we all can evoke vivid images of times we encountered angry, selfish or thoughtless individuals who were oblivious, incapable or apathetic to the needs of others. Sometimes the overt display of hatred and rage is so startling and shocking it takes our breath away. I recall times in the face of bad behavior when I puffed up like a defensive animal with fur standing high, making myself appear far more heroic or mighty than I felt; other times I froze in an attempt to become small or simply invisible. That happened two days ago just up from mom's house on Paradise Road. I am still trying to wrap my arms around it.

Luna and I were walking late in the day when traffic on Paradise is busier than usual. A young man in his 20's, his mother and their several dogs live in a rented house nearby. The dogs run free in spite of a local leash law and one bounded across the street to greet Luna when we walked by, running directly into the bumper of an approaching truck. The sound of the dog being hit, brakes slamming, the haunting yelping followed by frantic cries from its owners...this is never easy to witness. I was a few feet away, standing horrified with Luna. The female driver was getting out to help when the young man came lunging toward her screaming, full of a terrifying rage. It seemed all-wrong, his yelling at her rather than tending to his dog. He did go to the dog eventually only to return to the truck with a new heaping of obscenities. Awful words, insulting, appalling. I froze in the midst of this ranting, as gruesome as the writhing of his wounded dog. The woman slowly drove away, a wise decision given the situation and as she did the man spit at her and called her disgusting names, gesturing obscenely with all his might. I was mortified by the raw emotion, unbridled fury, and desperate frenzied aggression. I wanted to disappear. His mother came out to the dog, covering its bloody body with a blanket before moving it to the side of the street. She yelled at the driver as well, minus the obscenities, insisting she had to pay for this, had been speeding recklessly, telling me and anyone else listening to get the plate number. Finally I pleaded with the mother to forget the driver who had not in fact been speeding or reckless. I tried explaining what had happened, that it was an accident. My words fell to the ground without effect or influence. A few moments later I walked away from the scene. I felt like a zombie, not really knowing why I was leaving without offering assistance but assuming it was shock taking me back to mom's house. I have never turned my back on any animal or human in need; I am typically good in a crisis, someone you want on your team. The raging on the young man's part continued as I made my way down the street, opened our front door as if nothing was wrong, undid Luna's leash and walked slowly back to the site of the chaos. I knew I had to return.

In between his ranting up and down the street, the man began a fresh round of verbal assaults on one of his other dogs for sitting where the injured dog was to go in their car. I tried to intervene but the mother needed help moving the injured one to the vehicle. When this was done, to my utter disbelief, the man started to get behind the wheel, intending to find the driver and "make her pay, to find her husband and show him what it feels like to get f----- up like a dog". By now my freeze was thawing; I looked him in the eyes and said in a solid, firm voice, "Get in the back seat with your dog, you need to get help right away, NOT go after the driver. Your dog's life is more important. Do you understand?" Surprisingly he did, meeting my gaze and quietly settling into the back seat. I then turned to the mother and said, "Go get your shoes, keys, wallet and cell phone." She did. I asked if there was more I could do. "Yes, you can get the name of the driver". It turns out the woman was waiting a few houses up the street, away from the rage and spit. I walked up to her and when she got out of her truck I recognized her as someone I know. She tearfully said "My boy is in the car with me!" She was distraught, understandably so, that he had witnessed such a terrible scene. I comforted her as best I could. She had wisely called the sheriff and when he arrived we conveyed our concern about the man's behavior in the midst of a purely accidental tragedy. We were ashamed of the man on a street called Paradise, stunned and distressed by both the dog's injuries and the unnecessary hatred from the humans.

The next morning I picked a bouquet of flowers for the woman. We spent 20 minutes or so at her office replaying the events, the way victims of trauma are drawn to do. I told her I had been to the animal hospital that morning on an unrelated errand and happened across the man and his dog, both of them subdued and fine. The relief on her face was palpable. She said the sheriff had confronted the man at the clinic after leaving us, warning he would be watched for further signs of aggression and wandering dogs. The sheriff told the man in no uncertain terms the driver was innocent of all crimes and that he in fact was liable for any damage done to her truck. The mother, son and all the dogs were in the process of moving out when the accident occurred and today the house stands emptied, and strangely peaceful.

Luna and I walked past the house the next day but it wasn't the remnants of dried blood on asphalt that stuck like a rotting smell to my senses. It was the rage. The horrible, senseless words hurled at a woman who was mortified to hit a dog in the street. The spit slung at her truck while her 4 year-old son watched from the back seat. The verbal abuse thrown around the panicked dog's head as it lay injured. That is what I am holding.

The flowers helped the woman as much as they helped me. An act of kindness delivered and received. The promise of healing sprung so easily from a garden crowded with bees.