a horrible, horrible tale
Yesterday I was driving my children to the park. We drove along a twisty road coated on both sides with people – people spilling all over the sidewalks and grass, holding hands and laughing and eating ice cream, because it was a beautiful day, nice and warm, even though it’s the middle of winter. That’s why I love Houston, and that’s why we were going to the park.
So everyone was out frolicking and I thought, “I should slow down, even though I’m in a hurry to get my babies to the park before the sun goes down.” I slowed down. And then a dog – a brown mongrel with a fluffy tail – ran across the street about twenty yards in front of my car. I was glad I’d slowed down.
And then a big, stupid-yet-happy-looking rottweiler ran really fast right the hell in front of my car. And I slammed on my brakes as hard as I could. SQUEAL! And I hit the rottweiler, anyway. THUNK.
“Oh, goddammit…” I said.
“GASP!” said every single person on the sidewalk, all of them now staring at me, their left hands over their mouths and their right hands either pointing at my Altima or just held out, palms towards my face, pumping slowly back and forth to show that I had done something very wrong and that they would be sure to let our Kindergarten teacher know.
“Whoa-ho-ho! Which way did he go, George? Which way did he go?” said the rottweiler, as he staggered towards the sidewalk in the direction we’d last seen the fluffy brown mongrel.
“Oh, man…” I said, wondering now what I’d do as I watched the dog die, straining my memory for the protocol, remembering the time I saw a car hit my favorite stray cat and watched her body whip up and down like a possessed snake’s before her screaming stopped and she finally died, right before my eyes, right before I had to go to my job at the grocery store deli, so many years ago.
Rottweilers are big. What would I do after we all, in horror, watched this one die? Would it be my responsibility to haul the carcass off the street? To stand over it and say a few pious words? To shed a tear for all the children watching? To listen to my own kids complain while we waited for the arrival of Animal Control? I looked for a place to park my car. There was nothing.
When I turned my head back to the dog, he was walking normally. I rolled down the window to refocus my eyes and make sure. I called to the couple nearest the dog, two strong men still staring at me accusingly. “Hey!” I bellowed. “Is he okay?”
They each muttered something, probably nothing nice. The dog began to trot. Then he began to run, his tongue rolling out in joyous slobber. Then a third dog ran in front of my now-stopped car, barking, “Here I come! Wait for me!” He barrelled through the wheels of a baby stroller after his friends, his white tail flashing like a muddy star.
While the onlookers were distracted by this pastoral scene, I stepped on the accelerator and made my escape.
“Hey! HEY, you evil dog-killing witch!” everyone yelled, throwing snowcones, popcorn and dirty diapers after our car.
But we were already gone. We were long, long gone, on our way to another family adventure.
