2 Down, 672 Billion To Go

Ladies and Gentlemen, you are reading the words of a murderer.

I have killed two dogs in my lifetime. The first was when I was in class, driving back from Keene with Blake Anderson late at night in the pouring rain. Essentially, I saw something flash in front of me, felt a whump, and when I went back there was a dead dog beside the road.

The second, unfortunately, was but yesterday. I was heading into town to run a couple of errands before sundown. I slowed down for a couple of kids walking up the road and then, out of the corner of my eye saw something flash in front of me, felt a whump, and then saw a dog bowling along, head over heels in front of me. It promptly got up, but it didn't look healthy based on the fact that it was yelping with great abandon and performing a peculiar sort of dance. It made it's way to the side of the road and sort of collapsed into a quietly whimpering puddle.

The dog owner's son apparently saw the incident and rushed to the scene of the crime and proceeded to comfort the dog as best he could while I stood by wishing that I had had the good sense to have gone the long way to do my errands instead of trying to drive through the neighbor's dog. A young woman from next door came over and quietly caressed the dog's head. Fortunately, they both seemed to understand that it wasn't my fault and that the dog had a penchant for darting out into the street.

The young woman went and got her husband who obviously loved animals. The man came over and ministered to the animal as best he could.The boy went to call his parents, and during that brief interlude the dog shuffled off this mortal coil, as they say. The man confirmed our fears by lightly touching the dogs eye, but there was no response.

Either the funniest or saddest part (I'll let you decide which) came when the dog owner's son came back after calling his parents. He knelt down beside her and looked carefully. "She's dead", he said sadly. "I can see the fingerprint on her eyeball."

The husband went to get his panel van to take the poor animal to the vet, even though everybody knew it was too little too late. I left to continue my trip, quietly ruminating on the situation.

Even though it was just a dog, it struck me that life had been taken away and could not be casually replaced. I can remember what it was like to be twelve years old and having a dog. There is something about it that transcends a man and beast relationship, and it is real to me that the boy lost his friend.

It's also real to me that there is nothing that I can do. I can't afford to replace the animal (I'm no dog expert, but I suspect it was an Airedale Terrier.) Anything else wouldn't help. What am I going to do, stroll up to the family and say "I'm sorry that I killed your dog, but I brought you a cake?"

I'm sorry. I would have gone the long way if I had known.