Tuesday, February 24, 2009

My morning, your death.


She was a pittie pretty girl, a fawn with a smoky mask. I almost didn’t see her in the tall grass, but something told me to look. It was too late to stop, so I drove around the block to get to her. That whole block I gave myself a pep talk willing myself to find the strength I so very often feel depleted of.

She had tires marks across her back, smudged black with some of the tread still visible. No one stopped to help and I wonder how they are at peace with that. Her red collar was on, no tags, and was tight against her neck. I had to struggle to take it off of her but it’s my only way of maybe finding you to break you the news… not that I think you really care. I don’t see any lost dogs signs and she’s obviously been here for days. She is cold to the touch, bloated, but still soft under my fingertips. What a different life she would have had if she had been mine. I gave her a small eulogy as I think she deserved at least that. A stranger stopped to help and in that moment I felt relief in knowing I am not alone.

I took your collar to the warehouses I work near. I walked, smelling of death, amongst the dogs I have memorized by face to keep track of who is new, who needs help, and who is missing. They were upset and agitated as I walked among them. No one is at work yet so I will have to wait and see if anyone will claim you.

I’ve washed my hands 100 times and I still smell of your death. I’ve got your collar in a bag on my desk and I wish this was all a bad dream. The sadness sinks in that this is the reality of the world I live in; selfish people with little regard for the lives around them both great and small. Sweet baby, you were loved without measure, even if it was for a brief moment with strangers presiding over your lifeless body on the side of the road.

1 comment:

  1. Oh, how I cried at my desk after reading this post!

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