What does the enneagram have to say about a grown man who takes the time to put a tutu on a chihuahua?
The stars, how about the stars? I wonder, what was his rising sign, or his dominant house?
Do you think, given the fact that he dressed a dog in a tutu, that he was more prone to identify as a Republican or Democrat, Baptist or Presbyterian?
Here is what I know about the inherent nature of this man named Boodah:
Two days before he was shot to death, I ran into him in the U-district where I found him holding a small dog. He smiled proudly as he told me that he was dog-sitting for his friend and had bought this dog this tutu and got her dressed that morning. I look at this cute dog in this stupid little cute tutu and see that it is on backwards. We both giggle with delight at the mistake and work together to right his wrong and get his girl “decent”.
I give him a ride back to the Aurora Avenue motel where- I don’t know it yet and he doesn’t know it and certainly the dog in the tutu doesn’t know it- where he will be murdered two days later.
Now, many folks like Boodah would interject here and say that you, reader, will likely care more about what happens to the dog in the tutu after Boodah dies in this story then you will care about that fact that Boodah is dead at all, so let me beat you to the chase: the little dog in the cute stupid little tutu is fine but the grown man who took the time to dress a dog in that tutu, take it off when he realized it was on wrong and then put it back on again so that she looked good, is not fine.
He is dead.
And he died two days after we were in my car driving back from the U-district talking about how good it felt to care for the little dog, keep her alive and make her feel loved. It was reminding him of his own desire and ability to be a good dad and convicting him in his heart that he wants to try again, to reach out to his kids with humility, and try again. I hardly ever pray with folx, but that day he asked me to and if there is one thing I know and believe that prayer is for – it’s for this man’s holy, hard-earned hope that he be the man, the father that he so badly wants to be.
So, we pray.
Where do these prayers go when the man that prayed them is dead two days later?
I pray now, I pray in this moment that his prayer goes directly into you and that it flows from you the next time you see a man trying to survive these streets with all the bits of dignity he can muster.
And then, I pray that the next time you see a little cute dog in a stupid crooked tutu, you tip your hat and think of Boodah’s unlived but most certainly muttered reunion with his children as you hold yours close.