Brownie

Popeye, saved by paramedics

This story does not end well. Really, if you don't want to be depressed don't read this. I've put off writing about it for two years because at the time it was quite disturbing.

What brought this story back to mind was an incident here in our town where some numbskull was riding around on a bicycle with his dog in tow at the end of a leash. Oh, and it was ninety degrees with seventy percent humidity. When the dog finally flopped down in the middle of Wilton Drive with heatstroke, the asshole simply dropped the leash and rode off. I'll start off with the good news. The dog was saved by the local paramedics, who despite rules to the contrary, took the dog to a veterinarians office. Popeye the dog will probably be adopted soon, and all his medical expenses were paid by generous donors. It's a small thing to help a dog, but it gives you a good feeling inside when you do.

Three years ago I started volunteering at Abandoned Pet Rescue. Twice a week my friend Dean picks me up, and we drive over there to take all the big dogs out for a walk. One at a time we take them out the back gate for their walk along the grassy space next to the railroad tracks. After returning them to their cage I always give them some love, and a cookie. About two years ago Dean and I were on our way to walk the dogs, driving down my street, and I noticed the two teenage neighbor girls running in a panic.
"What's wrong?", I called out the car window.
"Brownie got loose. She ran down the street."
Brownie was their sweet little Boston Terrier.

At the end of the street I spotted Brownie, and told Dean to stop the car. I grabbed my dog leash, and got out. I was ready to cross over the street to grab the fugitive pup when she spotted me. Brownie knew me and started running over to me. It felt good that I was able to catch Brownie, and behind me I could hear the girls giving a little cheer of relief. However, my happiness was premature. I hadn't actually grabbed her and put the leash on her yet. When Brownie came bounding across the street, a telephone company truck zipped by. Brownie was run over. She died within seconds. As she lay there in my arms twitching and gasping her last breaths, I tried to comprehend what had just happened. I was on my way to do good deeds for homeless dogs when I saw my neighbors in trouble, so I stopped to help them catch their dog, and now that dog was dead. I still don't understand.