Jacob was a foster child. He grew up in the Foster Pinball Machine. Birth to graduation. He was never adopted by a family.
He and I weren’t close friends, but we knew each other. I lost track of him at age fifteen. He moved away to a group home.
We got in touch a few years ago and I expected to learn he had a wife and kids, but that wasn’t the case. Instead Jacob has animals.
Six dogs, three cats.
I don’t think Jacob would mind me saying that he marches to the beat of his own tuba.
He’s had little choice in the matter. His childhood was spent bouncing from family to family, looking after himself, remembering to eat regularly. It was a hardscrabble childhood.
Today he leads a good life. He’s a restaurant cook, he likes to hike, camp, and he’s had the same girlfriend for ten years.
Yesterday, we talked about all his animals.
“I dunno,” he said. “Just love animals.
Growing up, I was never allowed to have any. And I had so much love
I wanted to give.”
Jacob found his first dog after work one night. It was late. A stray black Lab was sniffing trash cans behind a restaurant. The dog bolted when it heard footsteps.
So Jacob tried to coax it with food. The dog wasn’t interested. Then Jacob resorted to heavy artillery.
Raw ground beef.
No dog, not even Benji, can remain civilized in the presence of a raw hamburger. Jacob left an entire package on the pavement then backed away slowly.
The dog still wouldn’t come. So Jacob gave up and piled into his car to leave.
But before he wheeled away, he glanced in his rear mirror. The dog was eating a pound of sirloin in one bite.
“Started feeding him every day,” Jacob said. “I just wanted him to know somebody cared.”
And you already know…