“Hector…baby…no…come here…back to daddy…come on good boy, come…here!”

His eyes were open, unblinking.  They stared at me, sad and pitiful, asking me to pick him up, to hold him.

I touched his muzzle.  A trickle of blood came from his nose, oozed from the ear nearest the ground.

A car, I guessed…

Not knowing what else to do, I gathered him in my arms, lifted him from the road, as his eyes had asked.  I had lifted him in my arms dozens, hundreds of times, and he’d been all flailing paws, squirming muscle.  Now, though, he was a rag doll, limp and heavy, and it was then I knew, knew it in my practical brain if not my protesting heart.

He was gone…dead.

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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)