I hit a dog on my way to work this morning. 6:30am; dark and drizzling, low visibility on a curvy stretch of a back road, and BAM, thudthump.
Beautiful long blonde hair, possibly an older puppy or young adult. Looked a little like Benji.
I had no idea who to call, and the residences 'nearby' were not accessible. I called 911, and explained that I had a non-human emergency. The guy said "Excuse me?" Umm... I mean this isn't an
emergency, per se, but I don't know who else to call. I hit a dog, it's still alive, but really suffering. I pulled him to the side of the road and covered him up with a blanket but he's really breathing hard and moaning, and having seizures; I know his back leg is broken but there is no other
visible injury, no bleeding or wounds but I know he has to have internal injuries because I hit him going about 45 mph and he knocked my license plate holder thingy off and I really hit him hard so I know he's badly hurt... I explained I was sorry to tie up the emergency line for something like this, but I didn't know what else to do; I tried calling the non-emergency number for our borough police but nobody was answering and I wasn't even in the borough anymore but I didn't know what township I was in, and I thought maybe they could at least tell me who to call because I didn't have a phone book and I wasn't aware of any 24-hour emergency vets in the area...
"Ma'am, it's going to be okay, take a deep breath." It was only then I realized that I was slightly hysterical, and not altogether coherent.
Breathe, swallow, breathe. Okay.
Trying to describe my location was another feat in itself, but he was kind enough to dispatch the nearest animal control officer to my aid. I stood in the cold rain, gently soothing this poor creature for a good half-hour. Did any other cars stop? Why, no. It is perfectly acceptable to see a woman on the side of the road in the rain crouched over a lumpy blanket and crying.
Upon arrival, the man said, "You need me to sign sumthin' fo' yer insurance or what?" No, I said, just please take this poor animal somewhere to get fixed, I am willing to pay for the treatment, and we could adopt it. "There ain't nowhere to take it, honey, and the shelter don't open 'till after dinner(that's backwoods hick for "lunch")".
So, what do you do, then?
"Leave it on the truck."
OH, NO NO NO
HELL NO.
I call my husband, who is absolutely thrilled to hear from me at this time of the morning about yet more good news. I had him call our vet's answering service. Our vet doesn't
have an answering service. Hmmm. Okay, next bright idea. Why don't I just load it up and take it somewhere? Ah... but where? That is the stem of this problem, you see. And I can't call off of work over something like this.
"Besides," the officer tells me, "I don't think he's gonna make it anyway, honey. At least you stopped, most people just keep on going. We'll take it from here, ma'am, you just go on now, it'll be okay."
So, I'm sobbing, and telling the doggy how sorry I am, and to just hang in there, he'd be okay, be strong, we'll get you all fixed up...
The man is looking at me like I've lost my last marble. Says, "Ma'am, is this YOUR dog?" No, I told him again what happened. "Ma'am. It's just a dog. It's not a person. Are you worried about a ticket or something, because it's okay, it ain't gonna count against you or nothin'."
Anyway, long story short, I went on about my morning, and thought about the pup all day. I decided to call him Lucky when we adopted him. I wondered how much the vet bill might be. I was just as delusional as I could have been.
When I got home, I called the shelter. Oh, yes, they did get an injured dog in today, could I please hold? The next lady asked me to describe Lucky, and asked if it was my dog. I told her I was the one who had hit it. She told me the dog had died. It was a little girl. She had massive internal injuries, and there was nothing they could have done, even if someone had attended to her sooner. They were sorry. She told me not to feel bad, it wasn't my fault the dog was uncollared and wandering on the road. She said it happens all the time. Usually they just scoop up the carcasses later in the day; it's not often they get a "live" one. And she thanked me for trying. I thanked them for all they did, and then I cried on the sofa for a wee little bit.
I know accidents happen, but damn it all anyway.
---------------
After a white-trash dinner of various freezer and pantry contents thrown together in a makeshift "casserole", my guys went to see a hockey game while I dozed off and on between Seinfeld reruns. Phone rings.
"Hello, blahblah from blah something taking a survey on women who blah blah blah, do you have a moment?"
I'm sorry, women who
what, again? I didn't catch that.
"Breastfeeding. Women who are currently breastfeeding. Our records show you have a child between the ages of 3-9 months; are you using breast or bottle?"
My baby was stillborn.
"OH SWEETHEART! I am soooooooooo so very sorry, please know that I will take your name off our call list right away. You have a nice evening, okay? Bye."
Right back at ya.