About a dozen years ago, I passed the innocence of my adolescence riding bikes, shooting hoops, and placing bets with the boy who lived across the street. One warm spring afternoon we sat on the steps of his front porch engrossed in a game of five card draw. I glanced at the two fives side by side in my left hand, flanked by a couple of useless red and black numbers and the suicide king. Fingering two quarters in my right hand I stared into the face of the boy who lived across the street trying to determine whether or not his fifty sent raise was based upon a genuinely good hand. The small pile between us was splattered with disks of silver and copper, there had to be over a dollar in there already, what was he playing at? But before I could decide, my attention was diverted by a hysterical scream coming from my house. I stood up and peered over the small wood wall obstructing my view. My parents were standing out on our front lawn; my father had run into the house and dragged my mother calmly out—there was something he needed to tell her in secrecy. Now she was in tears fighting him off as he attempted to quiet her. I immediately ran to them, neighbor boy at my heels. “What’s going on?’ My voice was small and scared. “Get in house!” my dad bellowed. I looked to my mom. “He ran over Grizzly!” she sobbed continuing to punch and scream at my father. “Asshole! You Asshole!” My eyes widened. “I said get in the house!” my father repeated in a more threatening tone. I stood staring at them in confused disbelief when I felt a soft shove on my shoulder. “Come on.” My playmate led me inside. My sisters had all gathered in the living room in a confused panic. They were kneeling on the couch fighting with the blinds and each other to watch the drama unfold through the large front window. “What’s going on?” they asked as I entered. “Did she say he ran over Grizzly? Did he?” “Yeah…uh…don’t know…didn’t see” I pushed between them to get my own spot at the window. Then my parents entered still arguing. “What happened?” we all cried at once. “He ran over Grizzly!” my mother sobbed once more. “What?” “Really?” we all gasped. My father turned to us. “I’m sorry girls. She was lying under my truck. I didn’t see her.” He was noticeably agitated. He returned his attention to my mom. “You were supposed to keep it quiet! Look, I’m sorry. Calm down. I need to go to work. Take care of this.” He stomped back outside, hopped in his work truck, and drove off. “Asshole!” my mom screamed after him. We turned to her in a panic, “Is she okay? What do we do?” She picked up the phone to call animal control. “There’s a lot of blood. I need towels,” she instructed. We fetched them and attempted to walk outside. “No, stay in here. I don’t want you guys to see her.” Large tears were still falling from my mother’s eyes, slowly sliding down her cheeks and splashing onto the ground. “But I am gonna need some help…” The neighbor boy jumped up to her aid in an attempt of premature masculinity and she accepted. They headed outside and once again my sisters and I jockeyed for position at the front window. Our hearts pounding and eyes streaming we watched our dog, my first and most loved pet, dying. For twenty minutes we stared out that window as the black chow struggled to get up, jerking her head in wild movements forever scaring us with the image of matted black fur and spouts of blood pouring from what were once her eyes. Finally, the animal control truck pulled into our driveway. A uniformed man exited the vehicle and handed my mom a clipboard with a mound of paperwork that needed to be filled out before they could do anything. We had overheard their muffled conversation and were appalled. Finally having someone upon whom to take out all her anger and frustration my sister, one year my junior, burst out the front door. “What’s wrong with you?!” she screamed at the man. “Can’t you see she’s suffering?! Just make it stop! Please! We’ll fill out your paperwork, just please take care of her!” Startled by the hysteria of a grieving 11 year old, the man obliged and loaded the declining animal into his truck as my mother scribbled upon his pages. The rest of us slowly exited the house and we all gathered on the lawn, consoling each other as we watched them drive off into the sunset never to be seen again.
