Prints in the Sand: My Journey with Nanea

A cinnamon-brown pup with floppy ears huddles beneath the mango tree, trembling all over. His legs are stubby and his chest round and full, shaped almost exactly like one of the ripe mangoes that hangs down from the branches above him. I reach out my hand and murmur that everything is fine, that he has nothing to fear. He whimpers, edges one hopeful step toward me, then backs away two nervous steps.

Mrs. Watson emerges from the shelter behind us and confesses she’s never seen this dog before. Nanea says he’s simply adorable, despite his fright, and tells Mele to mind her manners. Mele trots over, tail swinging, and the two dogs greet each other nose to nose. Nanea suspects the siren must have scared this dog and he ran away from his own yard.

I lower myself down and offer my hand once more, and Mele’s easy warmth seems to lend the little dog some courage this time. He inches forward in small, cautious steps until he’s close enough to sniff my palm and glance upward. I assure him he can trust me, and he responds with a tiny lick, as though promising to try. Just like that, the two of us are friends.

Nanea and I head off down the street to try to find the dog’s owner. Nanea beckons Mele along, and I test out a name on the other pup, calling him Mango. The name suits him at once, and he comes trotting over without hesitation. Together the four of us make our way door to door, ringing doorbells all along the block. Since it’s a Saturday, plenty of neighbors are home, but none of them know Mango.

By the end of the next block, Nanea wonders where he’s really from. We’re nearly back to her own neighborhood. Rather than answer, I crouch down next to Mango and confess that part of me wishes he belonged to me instead. He answers with a sloppy kiss on my nose, which sends Nanea into giggles as she declares he clearly adores me. I’d like to believe he understands we’re only trying to help him.

Mango grabs a loose string hanging from my cover-up in his mouth and playfully yanks on it with delight. Nanea figures he must be starving and proposes we go home for lunch and find something to feed him.

By the time we’ve eaten, Mango’s stomach has swelled into a round little ball, and he curls into a contented heap on the floor, resembling a ripe mango more than ever.

I polish off my own peanut butter and guava jelly sandwich as we talk about Mango’s owners probably missing their dog. Mrs. Mitchell collects my plate and gently asks whether my parents will be expecting me back soon, too. I let her know not yet, that I’m free to stay a bit longer. One part of me dreads that we’ll never track down Mango’s owner, while another part dreads the opposite just as much, that we’ll succeed far sooner than I’d like. Saying goodbye to him isn’t something I’m ready for.

Back outside, Nanea catches sight of her neighbor Auntie Rose relaxing on the porch with a cold drink in her hand, and rushes over to ask whether she recognizes Mango. She doesn’t, though Auntie Rose points out that Oahu has plenty of stray dogs wandering around lately, now that so many families have been sent back to the mainland. The idea that someone might have abandoned a dog like Mango makes my chest tighten, but Auntie Rose reminds us gently that families have been forced to leave on short notice, the moment the government orders it.

Nanea nods and says that’s what happened with Donna and her mom. But who will take care of Mango? Auntie Rose says Nanea will. If the dog has a home, she’ll find it. Nanea will kokua and help him. And Auntie Rose will help Nanea. She’ll let the neighbors know.

We linger at Auntie Rose’s for guava juice and Portuguese sausages, which Mango somehow finds room for despite his massive lunch. As we walk away, I can’t shake the feeling that Mango and I are both a bit adrift without the people we love most.

Farther along, a mailman waves back after Mele barks a greeting. Nanea tells me his name is Mr. Cruz, and he knows the whole neighborhood by name. But he doesn’t know Mango. Mr. Cruz does say Mango looks like a salsicha. That’s Portuguese for sauasge. But if we draw a picture of Mango, he can take it with him on his route and ask around. Nanea says maybe we can make posters, too, just like she did when Mele went missing.

We hurry back to Nanea’s house, where she unearths a box of paper and crayons, and Mango settles onto the bed to pose for my sketches. My first try comes out clumsy, admittedly sausage-shaped from certain angles, but by my tenth poster I’ve finally captured him properly, standing upright with his tail caught mid-wag and his big round eyes seeming to plead with anyone who looks to bring him home. Nanea grabs a stapler and we hurry to catch up to Mr. Cruz.

By the time we finish stapling our last poster, my feet are throbbing. But Nanea reminds me it was all worthwhile; she’s confident someone will eventually recognize him. Mango appears to share her hope, whimpering by the door after dinner as if awaiting his true family’s arrival. Mrs. Mitchell shoos us out with both dogs for a final walk while she blacks out the windows, and up and down the block we watch other neighbors doing exactly the same.

Right as we’re heading back toward Nanea’s street, a woman named Mrs. Santos flags us down with a dish towel still in her hand. Spotting Mango, her face lights up into a grin. She says Auntie Rose told her about Mango. She doesn’t know the dog herself, but she knows Mrs. Ikeda, who has a neighbor named Mrs. Alana, who has a daughter named Sukey who lives on King and Kaheka. And Sukey’s family is missing a puppy just like Mango.

Nanea says King Street isn’t far from Mrs. Watson’s. Mrs. Santos nods and says that we can return Mango to his family tomorrow before disappearing into her house. Nanea turns to me and says if we wait until tomorrow, Mango will miss his family tonight. And they’ll be worried about him.

I ask if we should take him home now. Nanea says we have time to run Mango over there and make it back before curfew. But if I want to wait until morning, she understands. What do I want to do?

I look down at Mango, and he offers me his paw. Immediately I know what we should do.