I killed a dog tonight.
I was driving down the highway out in the middle of nowhere, doing a little over 55 MPH (Thanks Iowa! for giving me great gas mileage.) and I noticed a dog sniffing around in the ditch on my right.
I was getting ready to turn off of the highway, so I started slowing down while looking at the dog. I was saying to myself, "That dog looks like (The Commander's cousin Joe's dog) Sammy. But it doesn't have the white tipped tail."
When all of a sudden, Not Sammy made a bee-line for the other side of the road. I barely had time to slam on the brakes and no time at all to swerve. I hit him dead center. (No pun.)
He looked like an adolescent dog. Medium sized. Gangly. Sorta doing the "yup, yup, yup" gallop across the road.
I looked in my rear view mirror and didn't see him. I thought, "Great, he's stuck under the car." (Not really cold hearted. More like OH NO!)
Then I looked in my side mirror and saw him come to a floppy stop on the opposite side of the road. I wanted to stop, but I didn't want to stop. Know what I mean? I ended up not stopping. I was on my way to take The Boy to piano and didn't want to be late for the first lesson with the new teacher.
The Boy glanced over at me and said, "What was that?"
I told him I hit a dog.
He didn't say anything for a while. Then he asked me why I looked so sad. I told him that I was sad for the dog and sad for the owners if it had any.
He didn't say anything for a while, then he reached over and patted my leg. "Was he dead?"
"I think so."
"What position was he in when you hit him?"
"He ran out in front of me."
Oopsie. He didn't know I had hit a live dog, he thought I had ran over an already dead dog.
I'm still sad. I have never done that before. I have been in the car when my dad hit a dog, but I have never been the driver.
It isn't pleasant.