It was just starting to drizzle but I was adamant on riding my bike to the bank to withdraw some money. The bank was only about 15 blocks from my house so a bike-ride was definitely doable. But, because it rain was on its way, I decided to make the trip as fast as possible. I hopped on my bike and zoomed down the street. I live at the top of a gradual downhill so I was picking up speed with each passing house. I got four blocks down from my house and before I had time to register what was happening, the dog was already lying and whimpering on the street.
That’s right. Bike. Dog. Death.
Ok, it didn’t die – that just had a strong journalistic ring to it.
Anyway, I had seen it – a small little mangy thing – leave its resting place in the front yard of the yellow house and excite itself to chase after an object moving at a whoppin’ 25 mph. Unfortunately, it overestimated the proximity to which it could run next to this moving object and – at just the right, unfortunate moment – found itself underneath my bicycle tires. I don’t know if my bike went over the dog or if my tires squeezed the dog out of the way like a banana popping out of its peel, but by the time I had screeched to a halt and turned to look at it, I knew it wasn’t good.
Now, you have to know that I don’t particularly like dogs. By no means did I run over it on purpose; it’s just an unfortunate fact that I wasn’t going to be picking it up to cradle it in its last moments of life. As a matter of fact I couldn’t tell if it was already dead or not. It wasn’t moving; it had stopped whimpering.
So, before I zoomed back home to relay the incident to my mom, I decided to politely nudge the thing with my foot, which, to some, might have looked like a gentle kick, but I assure you it was not. Whimpers emerged once more from the furball beneath me, so I ran to the front door of the yellow house only to be rejected by its emptiness. I hopped on my bike and peddled home.
The dog? Never saw it again.