The Sad Tale/Tail of Akila Through-the-Slats

My next door neighbors, that is, the married couple with children who live on the other side of my duplex (or is it twinplex? I can never remember) recently adopted a dog. They named the female black lab Akila -- my best guess at the spelling. It might just as easily be Akeela. As far as I can tell, they adopted the pup for the exclusive purpose of leaving it alone in the backyard all the time.

I wish I was exaggerating. Before they adopted the dog, it seemed like they were always home. My neighbor is a baptist minister who also manages a Chik-fil-a restaurant. His wife stays at home with their two small children and newborn baby. When they first moved in last Fall, it seemed like he was always at work and she was always home. The kids never play outside, but I could hear them tearing through the apartment hitting walls and ceilings, as kids are wont to do.

Once Akila (dammit, that's the spelling I'm going with!) entered the picture, they suddenly became absent tenants. Weekday evenings, Akila is outside until I go to bed and outside again (still?) when I leave for work in the morning. No one is ever outside playing with her, training her or keeping her company. Weekends are even worse because her family (her pack) is never home -- and so forlorn Akila fends for herself, chewing on whatever she can find, occasionally howling her loneliness or whimpering in despair. It kills me. I can only hope they are giving her enough water during these hot sunny days and getting her inoculated against the mosquitoes I know are the bane of her existence.

So, I try to visit with her as much as I can, through the slatted fence that separates our patios. I sneak her treats, which I share with Jake, of course. I talk to her for hours and let her chew on my fingers. In the weeks since we began our clandestine relationship, she has learned how to get atop the table they have pushed up against the fence, so when I sit at my table, Akila is at eye level with me. In the evening, when the bugs chase me indoors, I leave the patio light on, hoping it attracts some of them away from the poor beast next door. This afternoon, I spent several hours on the patio, reading and listening to NPR on the radio. Akila intermittently napped with her back up against her side of the patio fence while Jake slept at my feet, his back to our side of that same fence. Akila would nap for short spells, then start playing and pawing at me either through the slats out from beneath the fence, wanting to play. At least once, she barked a happy bark and startled the crap out of Jake.

For his part, Jake isn't certain what to make of the situation at all. He definitely does not like me feeding or playing with another dog and often insinuates himself between Akila and I. I asked my neighbor if I could "borrow" Akila one afternoon for a playdate with Jake and he was unimpressed with Akila's energy and boundless enthusiasm. I find those same qualities absolutely charming.

But I worry, knowing it's really none of my business. I cannot fathom why someone would bring a creature into their life and then shun them and consign them to solitude. They clearly aren't starving the pup or denying it water, but they are failing to give it the things a juvenile dog craves: affection, attention, direction and discipline. I sense that Akila has the makings of a terrific companion, but she may never get the chance to develop into one.

Poor Akila.