A week or so ago, I was stopped at a red light at extremely busy intersection near my neighborhood.  I noticed a small black kitten limping on the corner.  Cars in other lanes that were also stopped noticed it as well.  We all kind of held our breath as it limped forward toward the street.

I was in a lane that would have been dangerous to maneuver out of. I had both children in the car with me. It was a little like watching an accident happen in slow motion.

And then the little black kitten limped back up and hid behind a pole, well away from the road. We all sighed with relief, the light changed and off we went.

The next day I saw the flattened body of that little kitten in the road right where it had threatened to walk earlier.

I wept for that little kitten.

I wept for the guilt I felt for not helping that little kitten.

For days I kept thinking about that little kitten.

Today, at a stop sign a block away from that intersection, I looked out to see a dog, (forgive my dog ignorance, I have no idea what kind he was) with an electric collar and tags, wandering dangerously close to the road.

This time I only had one child with me, and was at a part of the road where I could pull over and put on my hazards. So I did.

I called the number on Spike’s tag. No answer. I looked around and with no one nearby to bounce any ideas off of, I decided I had to at least get him back to his own yard.

He happily jumped into the car. At which time Nick lost his shit. (Well, thankfully, not literally.) See Nick is petrified of animals. He was not just crying, but hysterically crying.

So I rearranged some things and moved Spike into the front seat. Nick approved – only slightly, but enough to get moving towards Spike’s house.

Spike’s address was, in fact, on this very busy road. I started looking for house numbers, while trying to convince Nick that the world was not coming to an end, while trying to keep Spike from eating the snacks that were in the front seat for long car rides, while also watching to make sure Spike didn’t pee anywhere. Because cleaning up toddler pee is where I draw the line, people.

Luckily it was a quick trip.

As in, two houses down the road. Seriously. He had crossed over his neighbor’s yard and then ran into me. So I pulled in and walked him around to the side where the garage was open.

Dude was sitting at a desk in his garage. (It’s a southern thing.)

“Is this your dog?”

“Oh, yah.”

“He was near the intersection down there. I didn’t want him to get hit. I saw the collar,” pointing at the electric collar that I’d imagined was supposed to keep him safe.

“Oh, yah. I think the batteries are dying on that thing.”

“All righty then.”

And I got back in the car with Nick who was all too happy to have Spike delivered back home.

All I can say is, I better not see Spike flattened on the road. I know where they live.


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