Living out in the country, you get a lot of strays. Shelters will charge to take in new pets, so a lot of people will just drive the unwanted cats and dogs out this way and dump them. Typically with my mother yelling from the front porch about rabies and other scary things, I make my way out into the road and attempt to coax the animal over. There is usually an hour or two playing with the dogs before animal control shows up.
It’s always a sad thing, when you realize how unlikely it is that someone will pay money to save the animal from its fate.
When we left on New Year’s Eve, there was a weird shape moving on the road.
“What is that?” Brad asked, driving towards it.
“Fox? No. I don’t know. Slow down, it’s a dog!”
As soon as I got out and started to call after it, the mutt took off for the field and looked back with uncertainty. Because I was with company and thought it inappropriate to waste time, I quickly gave up and climbed back into the van. Coming back home on the first day of the new year, that big puppy was lying, dead in the road.
When I relayed the sad news to my dad, he asked, “Near the big tree out there?” as he had seen it earlier in the week.
“Was probably waiting there for its owner to come back.”