Why is the dog embraced while the man is spat upon?

A mangled, mangy mutt looks at you from the shaded doorway as you leave the bakery. Mud encrusted, fleas eating the flesh around his eyes and nose, ribs so sunken you can lay a finger in between each. You stop and pull a roll from your purchases, sad in the heart because the shredded collar around his neck indicates he was once loved as a puppy. Then someone may have hit him for having an accident on the rug. Eventually they drove him out, abandoning him in the street.

Your heart hurts.

The local rescues come about and round him up. Feed him, bathe him, and treat his many wounds, tearful from the scars that never should have been. He is treated with tender, soft kindness and gentle words and hands. Eventually he will open his heart for his new owner.

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A mangled, weary man looks at you from the shaded doorway as you leave the bakery. His hollowed eyes beg for a leftover as he holds a crumpled cup in a gnarled, mud caked hand. You cannot make eye contact, fearful the pain in his eyes is contagious. You instinctively clutch your bag securely, stepping faster. He casts his eyes downward, in full realization of his place in this world. He briefly remembers he was once loved. He was once a respected member in society. A tear works its way down his sunburned cheek, to disappear into his ragged, dusty beard.

Your heart hardens. He should get a job.

The local police come about and round him up. Talking down to him and kicking him only a little bit for good measure. He shuffles his tired feet down the hard sidewalk, ever fearful of the thrown items and degrading words he has waiting for him today. He feels the scars that never should have been with each step. He will never open his heart again. His heart is no longer.

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