A salesman overreacted and sent a nastygram out this morning, one of the big bosses responded scathingly toward me implying I'd somehow fucked up, and I cried. Twice.
So I went to lunch. Driving down Southern Parkway, a dog darted out in front of me, and I hit it. It screamed. I covered my face and wished it wasn't happening. I put my flashers on and got out, certain that the poor animal was dead under my car. It wasn't. I couldn't see it anywhere. A lady that was walking nearby said he'd run between the two houses across the street and disappeared. I moved my car off the road and went looking for the dog, but couldn't find him. I heard barking coming from one of the houses, though, so I knocked on the door. A little Vietnamese woman answered, and she spoke very little English, but she understood that I was asking about her dog. She led me through her house to the kitchen, where the poor pup (a full-grown male Pit mix) was bleeding all over the floor from his crushed rear paw. My heart broke for him. The barking I'd heard was the woman's two chihuahuas, who were hiding under a cabinet against the wall, losing their fucking minds over the confusion between their hurt friend (Ace) and the stranger in their home. I asked if the woman had a vehicle to take the dog to the vet, told her I'd drive them both there right now. She seemed hesitant. Or maybe she was just confused. Her dog had just run into the kitchen screaming with a crushed and mangled paw and then some stranger came knocking on the door crying and saying "Sorry sorry sorry". I would've been confused. She motioned for me to wait and went upstairs, coming back a minute later with a young girl who had that "WTF?" look in her eyes too. I explained what had happened, that he'd just run out in front of my car and that I'd tried to stop, but I'd been doing 40, and there just wasn't time. She said he does that, meaning escapes the yard, and that's why they'd put up the whateveritwas to keep him in. I offered again to drive them to the vet. She picked up the phone and said she'd call her friend, her friend would take them, their vet was just up the road. I asked for her name and number, and gave her mine. I apologized again. I thought about saying "have a nice day" as I left, like I try to do to everyone I greet throughout the day, but that didn't really seem appropriate given the circumstances.
And I left. I got in my car and drove home. I called Kim. I bawled my eyes out. I let my dog out, and made sure to hook up his lead before letting go of his collar, then I covered him in kisses and tears.
I'm so sad. Poor Ace.
And Ace is a big boy. Probably 50 pounds. He did a number on my fender. It's going to have to be repaired, mainly because i don't want to think about his poor paw every time I see the front of my car. How do I call Ace's mom and say, "Hey, remember me? I hit your dog? How's he doing? Well, he fucked up my car, and I'm going to need to you fix it. Thanks."