One of the worst things I have ever seen was my dog get hit by a car. I don’t have a child and I imagine that would be a million times worse, of course, but I have dogs. I don’t often dress them up in outfits or let them share my ice cream or call them my kid unless they do something particularly impressive, so I’m not one of those “real housewives” now.
The dog in question was called Blue and was a former greyhound. He was missing most of his teeth and had almost all of the sandwiches in his picnic basket, if I’m honest. He also had a huge ham tongue that couldn’t help but fall out of his mouth, which had to do with the missing teeth. He was goofy and shy and weird in the right way; My boyfriend and I taught him how to wag our tails and that not all people were bad. Some were quite nice indeed and wouldn’t mind if he cheekily wiped a hot dog right off their plate, as he might have seen in a movie if he hadn’t and hadn’t lived in a tiny, cramped cage barely seen the light, save for the few hours a day he had to walk, as if his life depended on it – because his life did depends.
We were leaving the house for our usual morning walk when the little bastard took off his collar. This was before we knew greyhounds needed harnesses because they understandably don’t like anything being pulled around their neck, even when the pulling is so gentle and all they can do is go out and play. They also go like a shot when they see something exciting – a cat or a smaller dog or a bird or a shiny thing. So you have to be one step ahead of them. They are like toddlers, I imagine.
Off Blue went like a shot after nothing special. All he knew was that he was free. After what I don’t know He had three beds, including ours, for God’s sake. But somehow I got it.