Tuesday, July 10, 2007


This post will likely be depressing and full of curse words. I'm writing from still a state of shock after witnessing certain events.

Oh my bloody fucking god. I took Princess to the vet for her last round of vaccinations and oh fucking fuck. I am still shaking.

When I came out of the clinic, which is off 450, I saw the cutest little puppy dog wandering aimlessly into the road with a small boy about 10-12 following after him. Mom was stalled in a car in the right lane, which was blocking the traffic... but then puppy went into the next lane over and I heard the most disgusting popping wet sound and I think I heard a scream from the boy and the dog was lying in the road, legs twitching. I watched it for any sign that rushing out into the street and taking it to the vet clinic behind me would be of any use... but I think the pop pop sploosh sound was the irretrievable sound of the head crushed under the tires. Thirty seconds, that felt like 20 minutes, and the puppy stopped twitching.

I think Mom was yelling at the boy.

He wasn't crying. I don't know if it was his puppy. I'm still sick.

The man who hit him came back and picked him up from the road and I saw the blood smear. And puppy was dead...

And there was no point to carrying him all the way up to the vet (another 100 feet maybe), so the man left him on the side of the road. And I kept thinking that the boy could have been next and then I would be oligated to do something about it--call the police, 911, whatever and they would have to do something about it. But if I did all that for the puppy, it would be a pointless waste of time. (One of the funny side effects of working for the hotline is knowing exactly what the police would do about such a call from a frantic bystander)...

And I thought about the last time I was at this vet and a man rushed his (obviously) deceased animal in like it were an emergency and was shouting demands at the doctor to save his dog. But the doc couldn't do anything for a dead animal... there was nothing to be done...

Nothing to be done.
Feeling a little numb.

And I keep hearing the fucking popping sound of crushing bone and seeing the pavement streaked with blood and hearing the mom yell at her son who will go home tonight and cry and probably be called a baby for doing so and will learn that men don't cry or show emotion. And I'm crazy for wanting to do something to help.

Paralyzed and powerless... in the face of death.

Fucking fuck fuck fuck, get this scene out of my head--out of my ears and my mind and let me just cry like the little boy instead of this numb, sick, thud in my stomach that makes me want to throw up.

1 comment:

  1. Hi. Is Janet.

    *hugs you hard* That sounds horrible. The poor puppy and boy and you.

    I'd like to hope the mom was yelling from fear that it could have been the son instead of the puppy, and not anger. It wouldn't make it easier on the boy, but it might mean when she gets over her shock she can hug him and help him through this.

    *hugs you again*



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