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A Writer's Web Corner    John Achor

© 2000

If I'd had a choice, I would not have killed your pet. He didn't suffer very long--maybe three or four minutes--but he did suffer. I saw the pain in his eyes before death clouded them over.

He ... I call him "he," but I really don't know whether your pet was a male or female. I didn't linger long enough to make that determination.

He never had a chance, racing out of the undergrowth, hell bent for leather, with his attention riveted on his prey. Nor did I.

I had no time to stop more than a ton of steel and plastic and rubber. I wouldn't swerve, couldn't swerve and invite a catastrophic encounter with a ditch. Two left wheels passed over your pet. I know; I felt both thumps. Though he nearly made it across the road, he never really had a chance. If it wasn't me, it would have been the next car or the next time.

If I'd had a choice, I would not have killed your pet. But I did. And now I feel pain and sorrow. As much as if he had been my pet--sick at heart and tears welling in my eyes.

I wonder why you put both of us through that hell of his death. Just a little compassion on your part could have saved us both. Kept indoors or leashed, he would not have burst onto the roadway just in front of my car. But you didn't, and he did.

You'll probably never know his fate. He had no collar or tags to identify him. No way to identify or find you. Just a medium size pet--a little black and a little brown with some white--who gave you unconditional love.

And now, he's just one more bit of road kill--lying there waiting for the ravens to discover him.

Don't care for your next pet with the same reckless disregard. Please!

© 2003 John Achor