A few weeks ago there was a poor dog who had been hit by a car lying on the side of the road. I was so upset the first day I saw him, that I almost cried. There were no homes around so I knew he had to have traveled far. I hoped his family would get word of his demise so they weren't still wondering and searching for a lost cause.
The second time I saw him lying there I almost cried. Again I was reminded of my own dogs and how much I love them. He reminded me most of Charlie, because of his size and his probable sweet demeanor. I pictured this shaggy black dog happily trotting down the road with a big dopey grin, only to have his life taken from him too soon. I hoped they would have him removed from the road by the next day so that I could selfishly drive to work without tearing up.
The third time I saw him, I grew angry. Why had no one picked up his body yet? Why was he still lying there? He should be given a proper farewell, not just left to rot in the street. For over a week he laid there and I grew angrier and angrier every time I saw him. Most days, I tried not to look, it broke my heart every time I did. In the middle of the second week I looked at him, and I looked at him closely as I drove by. My poor shaggy dog lying on the side of the road was only a piece of tire. I had gotten so worked up about the remains of a blow out. A piece of rubber gained my sympathy, I shed tears for a chunk of tread. On that day, I laughed. A few days later the "dog" was removed from the road.