The Shock of Death
We lost one of our dogs yesterday to the highway. To compound the matter even worse, my wife found him as she was driving home from work. She ran through the door in tears and collapsed on the couch. She knew it was him by the red collar. We had named him Hunter, which belied his gentle nature and wagging tail.
I left to make sure he was dead. Thankfully, he was. I say thankfully because my worst fear is not that one of our dogs will be killed, but that they will be sideswiped by a car, drag themselves off to the woods, and suffer for days on end in a constant state of fear before they die. I'll take a clean death any day over that end.
I'm not a vet, but I think he died instantly- or at least was knocked out instantly, and died shortly thereafter. There was precious little blood, which makes me think that his heart stopped almost immediately after the accident. Secondly, he was lying in the middle of the road, so he made no attempt or effort to get up. Even a mortally wounded dog, if conscious, will at least try to move.
I pulled him off the road to preserve what dignity he had left- by some miracle, no one had hit him again, and his body was still incredibly intact. From a distance, you would think he was sleeping. I wrapped him up in garbage bags and carried him to my parents' house, where he was buried beneath the old plum trees. I like to think he'd like it there.
It pains me to see him go but it helps to know that he knew he was loved and had a home for the few months he was with us. We picked him up off the road as a stray, so he was thankful for whatever we gave him. The four weeks he spent out here, running through creeks and fields, were probably the happiest moments of his life. You could see it in his eyes.
I'm not a violent person but I hope I never encounter the person who hit him and drove on. I can understand an accident, and I know my dog shouldn't have been in the road, but the level of callousness required to simply kill an animal and move on sickens me. Three minutes of effort would have produced a collar and a tag (with two telephone numbers) and with a little bit more effort one could have drug him to the side of the road, at least. The call could even have been anonymous. I would have been thankful to know what happened, that the driver felt a modicum of remorse, and know I needed to deal with the situation before my wife got home and saw it. Even when I tried to remove his body from the road, the cars didn't stop or even slow down- I was afraid someone was going to hit him again as I stood by and watched. There's something dreadfully wrong with our society when we don't realize and cultivate the sacred interconnectedness of all things. Hunter was a part of me, and I was a part of Hunter. Those people driving past the dog failed to realize that he was a part of them, too.
Rest in peace, Hunter. Know this- tears were shed in your memory.
I left to make sure he was dead. Thankfully, he was. I say thankfully because my worst fear is not that one of our dogs will be killed, but that they will be sideswiped by a car, drag themselves off to the woods, and suffer for days on end in a constant state of fear before they die. I'll take a clean death any day over that end.
I'm not a vet, but I think he died instantly- or at least was knocked out instantly, and died shortly thereafter. There was precious little blood, which makes me think that his heart stopped almost immediately after the accident. Secondly, he was lying in the middle of the road, so he made no attempt or effort to get up. Even a mortally wounded dog, if conscious, will at least try to move.
I pulled him off the road to preserve what dignity he had left- by some miracle, no one had hit him again, and his body was still incredibly intact. From a distance, you would think he was sleeping. I wrapped him up in garbage bags and carried him to my parents' house, where he was buried beneath the old plum trees. I like to think he'd like it there.
It pains me to see him go but it helps to know that he knew he was loved and had a home for the few months he was with us. We picked him up off the road as a stray, so he was thankful for whatever we gave him. The four weeks he spent out here, running through creeks and fields, were probably the happiest moments of his life. You could see it in his eyes.
I'm not a violent person but I hope I never encounter the person who hit him and drove on. I can understand an accident, and I know my dog shouldn't have been in the road, but the level of callousness required to simply kill an animal and move on sickens me. Three minutes of effort would have produced a collar and a tag (with two telephone numbers) and with a little bit more effort one could have drug him to the side of the road, at least. The call could even have been anonymous. I would have been thankful to know what happened, that the driver felt a modicum of remorse, and know I needed to deal with the situation before my wife got home and saw it. Even when I tried to remove his body from the road, the cars didn't stop or even slow down- I was afraid someone was going to hit him again as I stood by and watched. There's something dreadfully wrong with our society when we don't realize and cultivate the sacred interconnectedness of all things. Hunter was a part of me, and I was a part of Hunter. Those people driving past the dog failed to realize that he was a part of them, too.
Rest in peace, Hunter. Know this- tears were shed in your memory.
posted by Yorick at 10:36 PM
1 Comments:
Oh, I am so, so sorry. Our pets are like our children, aren't they? When they die, a little part of us dies with them. It sounds like his last several weeks were sheer canine bliss. I'm just so sorry you lost him. My thoughts are with you and your wife.
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