I can’t stop thinking about the little village of Lefkes, and the old dog who found us there. Even now, I check the weather for the village two or three times a day, wondering where the old dog is and how she’s faring in the rain, the sun, the cold nights. Has she eaten? Does she have water? Is she comfortable?

Lefkes, Paros

The village is on the Greek Island of Paros. It’s a traditional place with bright whitewashed buildings, Aegean blue shutters and doors, and narrow lanes that could be public paths or private spaces. There is an organic feel to the architecture here–like the old buildings have germinated from the hillside, squeezing in next to each other, into any empty spits of land. No two are the same shape. The village is a warren of stone paths climbing up and winding down the hillside, each lane hugged tight by these cottages. Stairs and doorsteps rise off of the lanes, varying in width from top to bottom, making wise use of their space. Trees and vines rise up out of tiny bits of open ground.

 

An Old Soul Finds Us

We arrived by bus one morning. It was pre-tourist season, on a less-traveled-to island, in a village that doesn’t get many tourists anyway. Quiet, but for the buzzing of bees and the wind in the lanes. Fresh with the scent of orange blossoms, wisteria, and the crisp air of a cool spring morning.

 

After admiring a peaceful cemetery that carried down the hill behind the Church of Agia Triada, I returned to the front courtyard to see that a dog had found Bryan.

She appeared ancient–black and bony, with a proud, gray face and hunchbacked hips. She allowed us to pet her, and then started walking away down the lane, stopping to look back at us with an expression that asked, “aren’t you coming?”. We followed.

 

Walking through Lefkes

She teetered a bit when she walked, maybe from arthritis or from some ailment that made her shaky and restless. When I stopped to take a photograph, she came back for me. We stopped at a tavern, thinking to buy her some food. The dog watched for a minute, then lurched on without us. I saw a woman make a nasty face and go out of her way in the narrow lane to avoid even brushing against the old dog. Though the tavern door was open, the shop was not serving any food. As Bryan sorted that out, I went to catch up with the dog, and to see if there were any restaurants up ahead. But the dog was gone. Not a trace.

Bells rang. Elderly people stepped out of their little houses, arm-in-arm, heading to a little church in a little lane. I returned to the tavern for Bryan. We sat there, sipping a Fanta and a Coke and talking about that old dog…her pitiful condition and the flagrant contempt we’d witnessed for the old soul. What’s wrong with people? Where’s the empathy for the old, the sick? It tainted the beauty of the place. And I felt sick that we’d given the dog nothing to eat. She was a bag of crippled bones, and we had done nothing to help.

Feeding the Soul

But within the hour, we saw the dog again, up a lane near the center of the village. Bryan ran into a shop and bought what he could find–which was a bag of pizza-flavored bagel bites. I called to the dog and she wobbled towards me. The rattle of the bagel-bites bag got her undivided attention. At first, I worried she might not have the teeth to chew them. But chew she did–crunching one after another. Two mousy cats crept a little closer on the wall where we sat, and called out to us. Of course, we fed them too. Within minutes, the bag was empty and three sets of eyes stared at us, at the bag, at our hands. The dog licked the stones for crumbs. The cats meowed and sniffed around their feet.

Bryan went down the lane to an open shop. He came back a few minutes later with a bread-plate-sized hot pepperoni pie. We tore off small, very hot bites, blew on them, and fed the old dog and the two cats, right there in the middle of Lefkes. They were gentle eaters, and patient. A few passing townspeople looked, but said nothing. We all had to flatten ourselves to the wall several times to avoid the cars on that narrow lane.

After the pie was gone, the cats retreated and the dog stared at us for a long few minutes. I offered her water. She drank from the lip of the bottle as water poured into my palm. And then she walked away, turning again to ask “aren’t you coming?”

Saying Goodbye

We walked with her to the end of town, to a place near our bus stop. I worried that she was too near the busy road, too far from where she’d found us. Could she get back to her safe place? I tried to get her to follow me down the pedestrian lanes back to the church. She turned and walked away, in the direction back to the center, where there were cars. Nothing I did got her attention, and she disappeared down the lane. I cried. Bryan said, “She knows these roads. She’s lived a long time here without you watching out for her. She’ll be ok.”

Since we had a little time before our bus, I wandered again through the town looking again for her. And, somehow I found myself back at the church. And guess who was laying in the courtyard?

There she was–alone in the sun, washing her feet. She looked comfortable, content. I did not want to disturb her, to have her get up in greeting or to walk me back to the busy road. So I did not enter the courtyard. I stood staring at her for a few minutes–wishing for her to have food, water, love and comfort for all the days of her life.

 

If you go

So, if you go to Lefkes, look for this old lady. If you find her, give her my regards and feed her a pie. I’ve thought of her a thousand times. And I’m quite certain she is an angel in disguise.

 

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