Horrible and revealing this morning on my way to work. Helpless, as that small puppy gaily flounced out into the road under that woman's tires. She heedlessly carried on - no brake light, no slowing, no acknowledgement at all. He wasn't mangled, but he wasn't unhurt. Grabbing the indian blanket that I keep in Colonel Plum for just such emergencies, I rushed to his side there in the street. He was very stunned, but I could see by the whiteness of his gums that he was already in shock. No outward signs of injury, but my fears ran deep that he would not be with me long.
Luckily a police officer happened by and waved off traffic as I tried to comfort the little pup. He sported a nice leather collar but no tags. His confusion subsided and I could tell that he was slipping away as his breathing shallowed. I cried there in the street in the humid morning, talking him through his last moments. The girl who hit him came back to justify her own indecency, and assuage her own ignorance. I waved her off. My little stranger began to gulp for air and I stroked him gently - it wouldn't be long now.
His blood was brilliant red, arterial and sparkling on the pavement - a testament to his short life. He took his last breaths and I gently lifted him to the curb. I asked the officer if he would look for the owners. They must live nearby. He seemed disaffected and distant, not wanting to even participate or offer the slightest consolation.
The welter of emotions will wait for another post, but I suffice it to comment that death is not nearly so dismal as indifference.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
2 comments:
Its amazing to me that I can be so unmoved at the long littany of death I listen to every morning on the way to work, yet so devestated by the death of a small non-noteworthy dog. This is due not to the calloused heart I know I possess in regard to my own kind, but my feelings are cultivated by the beauty and the tragedy of your prose. If its ANY consolation at all - that's the clearest and most moving prose you have ever written. I guess it is another validation of what Vonnegut said - 'Write about what you know, not what you wished you understood.' You, my dear, know the fur and the feather. Its your gift from God. - tlg
gift or no... just struggling with how to parlay that into something meaningful in the grand scheme. or is it only to be my own private "idaho"??
Post a Comment