If Only I Could Speak

Deep in the indigenous mountains of Mexico, the small town of Izamal gets ready for the fast-approaching Christmas Day. Despite the cold season manifesting as bare trees, dry grass, snowfall, and chilly winds in some parts of the world, it was always summer in Izamal, Mexico.

The Yellow City.

In the outskirts of town, a small shop is opening its doors for a special holiday sale. Everything is half off! In minutes, the shop is flooded with eager and desperate customers as well as the occasional tourist. Among the chaos, you’ll find me, lying at the foot of the shop’s front door.

The owner, Ricardo, strolls over to me with a content smile and a warm coffee in his hand. He is a shorter man with tan skin, a head of curly salt and pepper hair, and a bushy mustache resting above his lips. He lived in a small and comfortable flat just above his store, perfectly convenient as he described it. Locals called him “the Yellow Man” for the way he beamed with happiness as brightly as the sun.

“Good morning, Tofu,” Ricardo roars as I rise from my spot beside the door, my tail wagging uncontrollably. He strokes my black fur, his gentle hand reminding me that I was always safe with him.

“You took care of the shop while I was gone?”

I nuzzled his leg affectionately, letting him know the only way I could.

With the way people get around during the holidays. Of course, I did. How I wish I could tell him so.

How I wish I could speak at all.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, kneeling at my eye level. After digging through his pocket, he pulled out a small treat. They weren’t the best. Chewy and sometimes hard as rocks.

But I knew it was all Ricardo could afford right now; dog treats weren’t cheap. Still, it was better than what I used to have before I stumbled upon Ricardo’s shop, which was nothing.

I tilt my head, waiting for my cue.

“Sit,” Ricardo commands, the treat raised above my head. I obey and take a seat, my gaze set on the treat.

“Good boy,” he adds, dropping the treat and letting it fall into my mouth.

How I love you, Ricardo.

He notices a crowd of tourists coming our way and jumps back into action behind the register, ready to greet potential customers. For the rest of the day, I watched as Ricardo went back and forth: answering questions, promoting his shop for spectators, handling the register, and keeping things running smoothly.

Every so often, a customer or two would approach me and only further prove why humans are the most unpredictable part of my day. Some would greet me with wide smiles, scratching behind my ears or whispering sweet words I couldn’t quite understand but felt in my chest like sunshine. Others would flinch or step around me, unsure, afraid, or simply too distracted to notice the black dog lying at the threshold of their holiday hunt.

But most of them…most of them were kind.

Genuine souls, radiating pure joy, empathy, and kindness.

All except one.

Just when the sun began to set and the streets were bare, a lone man stomped past me into the store.

Nothing too out of the ordinary.

I lay my head back down, enjoying the sun's warm embrace, when I heard a commotion.

“I just need a couple thousand!” a voice angrily shouted.

“What happened to the money I just gave you?”

“You know how money is, Dad. It comes and goes.”

I rose from my spot and slowly made my way inside to the back of the store, where I found Ricardo, hands on his hips and a frown etched onto his lips.

He was stressed.

Standing in front of Ricardo, a young man in his early 20s anxiously paced back and forth.

“I’m sorry, Joseph,” Ricardo said as he ran a hand through his greying hair. “Even if I wanted to give you the money you want, I just don’t have enough right now.”

The man, now revealed to be Joseph, chuckled nervously.

“But what about the sale?” Joseph gestured to the store’s aisles. That’s when he noticed me.

He gave me a look of confusion and disdain.

Ricardo sighed, “I only made so much, son. And I still have to pay the property owners.”

Joseph gritted his teeth and took a step forward.

But so did I.

I growled, flaring my little teeth.

Joseph stepped back, lowering his voice. “You know I can’t leave with empty hands.”

Ricardo fiddled with the keys attached to the loops of his work pants. He tried to come up with a quick solution to his son’s problem.

“You could work a few shifts. I can call around—”

“No, you’d just be wasting my time! Not one of your friends trusts me, and I need this now,” Joseph snapped. “Please, Dad. Just this one time.”

There was a long pause. Ricardo and Joseph stared at one another. Then, Ricardo made his way to the counter with Joseph eagerly following behind him. Ricardo reached below the register, grabbed a small leather bag, and pulled out a few bills neatly folded with a rubber band.

“I’m sorry. This is all I have,” Ricardo declared, handing the money to his son’s desperate, ragged hands.

Joseph hesitantly takes it, stuffing it into his pocket.

His face said it all. This is it?

He looked at the register, questioning whether that was truly everything his father had.

Joseph sighed, “Whatever. Thanks, Dad.”

He spun around quickly and exited the store.

Ricardo stood there a moment longer, hand still hovering where the money had been, as though unsure whether he had done the right thing. His shoulders, once proud and lifted by morning light and warm coffee, now sagged beneath the weight of something heavier than the day's work.

The weight of fatherhood.

I padded over and sat quietly at his feet. He didn’t look down. Just reached for my head and stroked it absentmindedly, his fingers slower now, gentler.

“What am I gonna do with him, Tofu?” he murmured.

I pressed my nose against his calf, showing him love the only way I could. If only I could speak, I’d tell him what I knew, that he was a great father.

To me. To Joseph.

Even if Joseph didn’t think so at this moment.

That night, Ricardo locked up quickly and isolated himself behind the register, counting today’s revenue. A couple of hundred dollars. Ricardo sighed. This will do.

He carefully placed it into his leather bag, hiding it as he regularly did.

“How about I make us some sandwiches?”

I only tilted my head, ecstatic at the thought of food.

“That got your attention, huh?” He laughed, stroking my fur before he left for the back of the store and up the stairs to his flat.

I followed after him and made myself comfortable at the foot of the stairs, too afraid to go up them. Ricardo took note of this when he first adopted me. I used to whine at the sight of them, insisting I get carried instead. And Ricardo never argued until I grew too big for him to carry.

I might not have been a puppy anymore, but I was still his baby.

He found many ways to bring me up to the second floor until eventually I realized I could still watch over him from downstairs. And it remained this way for years until tonight, when I found myself waiting for Ricardo for far too long.

He must have fallen asleep, and his snores echoing off the wooden walls confirmed this.

Good thing I wasn’t that hungry.

I rested my head on my paws, comforted by the familiar smell of the shop and the soft breeze coming through the cracks in the door.

But then...

Clink.

Tap.

Quick, quiet footsteps.

My eyes snapped open.

I sniffed the air. My ears perked up. My body tensed.

Someone was here. Inside.

A low growl built in my throat. I jumped to my feet and ran toward the front of the shop, claws clicking on the wooden floor.

I barked, loud and sharp. Over and over.

Please wake up, Ricardo! If only I could speak.

But upstairs, Ricardo kept snoring. He didn’t hear me. I barked harder, louder, until my throat stung.

That’s when I saw them. Two people moving fast in the dark. One crouched behind the counter. The other flashed a small light along the wall.

Then the scent hit me. The smell of sweat and hot sun.

Joseph.

I froze. My heart dropped. What was he doing here? He didn’t look nervous. Didn’t act surprised. He knew exactly where to go.

The drawer, as he had observed earlier, was where Ricardo had hidden his money.

I launched forward, barking as loud as I could. One of them, who reeked of smoke and dirt, flinched and cursed.

Joseph turned and saw me.

“Shut that dog up!”

He reached down right as I lunged, aiming for his leg. My teeth caught him for just a second. Enough to make him stumble.

Then came the unimaginable. I hadn’t felt this pain since I was a puppy.

A hard kick to my ribs. Pain shot through my side. I yelped and collapsed near the counter. My legs shook. My body screamed at me to stay down.

But I couldn’t.

I had to get back up.

I pushed through the pain, one paw at a time.

The second man was already on the stairs, heading up toward Ricardo’s flat. No. No, no, no.

I growled low in my chest and forced myself forward, stumbling at first, then running.

The stairs.

I hated stairs. I always had. My legs would freeze halfway up. My belly would twist with fear. I’d stare up, whine, and wait for Ricardo to carry me.

But not tonight. I didn’t have time to be afraid.

I charged after him, the pain in my ribs screaming with every step, but I kept climbing. He was almost to the top when I leapt and sank my teeth into his ankle.

“Damn dog!” He howled in pain, stumbling back against the wall, slamming his shoulder into the railing. He kicked at me, but I didn’t let go until I heard the door upstairs creak open.

Ricardo stood at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide, his old hunting rifle shaking in his hands.

“What in God’s name?!”

The man at the top froze. Joseph, still downstairs, cursed again.

Ricardo cocked the rifle. “Get out of my house!”

They didn’t need to be told twice. The man I’d bitten scrambled down, tripping over himself, and Joseph followed. The door slammed behind them, their footsteps fading into the night.

For a long moment, the only sound was Ricardo’s heavy breathing.

Then he saw me, panting, limping, my side bruised and aching. “Tofu?” he whispered, coming down a few steps.

I wagged my tail weakly.

He dropped the gun and knelt beside me, running gentle hands over my body. He felt the bruise, the tenderness in my ribs.

His voice was quieter now, sympathetic. “Did they hurt you?”

I licked his hand. Then I looked toward the drawer. Then back at him. I tried to speak. I tried to tell him what I’d seen. Who I’d smelled. What I knew.

Joseph. Joseph.

But all that came out was a soft whimper.

Because I’m only a dog.

No words. No voice. Just a heart that loved him and broke for him, knowing who had come into the cold stillness of the night to rob him. Ricardo followed my gaze to the counter. He limped over and opened the drawer. Empty. The leather bag was gone.

He stood there a long time, staring. Then he sat down on the floor beside me, pulling me into his arms, holding me as gently as he could.

“It’s okay, Tofu,” he whispered into my fur. “You saved me.”

If only I could tell him who he needed saving from.

If only I could speak.