Dead

I don't like the word dead. It just doesn't sit right with me, but it keeps coming up all day. This morning on my drive to Allen, I saw a dead dog on the side of the road covered by a blanket. A student in my class talked about how her dog was dead and I mentioned mine was too. On the way home, I witnessed a dog get hit by a school bus. I saw it alive, and then it was dead. That image is stuck in my head.

It all happened so fast.

A gray and white wolf-like dog began to cross the narrow two-lane road. My mind was racing as I was remembering the time I hit the cat. I hoped the dog would make it across. The cars ahead of me screeched to a halt, and I hoped the bus nearing the dog on the opposite side of the road would stop too. It didn't stop. The dog went down. I slammed on my breaks when I finally looked away from the dog and back onto the car in front of me. I stopped inches away. The car behind me was inches away. I looked through the rear-view mirror at the woman on the passenger side who was flailing her arms and freaking out. I kept moving as the next car blocked the road on both sides. The driver, a man, got out and grabbed the dog by it's still spinning tail to move it to the side of the road. The dog was obviously dead as blood was dripping from it's mouth. It's a sight I will probably never forget.