Dogs Dead.
“Man, that looks bad.”
“Real bad.”
“Real fucking bad.”
We’d got out of Lynn’s big red truck and were stood on the street. Panicking and looking right at the dog we’d just hit, things were getting dark. The dog was sort of all mashed up, half on and half off the front bumper, and in a real state. Its eyes were still open and its tongue lolled around as the dog struggled to keep up its regular breathing pattern. It was making a funny noise. Through the blood and mush, you could still make out the poor creatures face which, along with its wiry, scruffy-looking coat, made it obvious we hadn’t hit one of those expensive types.
“It’s all right,” I said to Lynn. “I think it’s a mongrel”.
“Shit, man! Shit! They’re the best fucking kind. I fucking love mongrels, man. Friendliest fucking type of dog. Oh, man. I don’t believe this fucking shit.”
Lynn, who was pretty large for a woman, had started to kick one of the big tyres at the front of her truck. Her foot was making a loud, empty, thudding noise each time it connected with that thick, black, rubber and I was frightened she’d wake one of the local residents.
It was two-in-the-morning you see and it had been our turn to pick up the pot. I usually liked it when me and Lynn got to go. We could take a bit off the top as a danger payment, and it gave us some time alone. We weren’t going out or anything like that, in fact I don’t think she’d ever even thought of me in that sort of way, but you know, I would have done all the same.
I made to grab hold of Lynn’s arm to try and calm her down but my hand wasn’t large enough. It made me realise just how strong she was. I mean, I’d heard the stories and such but right then, it really dawned on me.
“Fuck, Lynn. It’s late. Be quiet, you’ll wake someone up”.
She turned and looked at me. Through that yellow colour of the street lights, I could see her shoulder muscles flexing and the tears welling up in her average-looking eyes.
“Oh god. What are we going to do?” Lynn was crying now. Not like a girl though, it was more like when your father cries, angry and embarrassed with himself for showing weakness to those he should protect. Still I liked this new side to Lynn. It made her more feminine, more attainable. I’d never seen her cry before. I’d only ever known aggression or swaggering insolence. I was almost glad we’d hit this dog.
“I don’t know, Lynn. You got a shovel?”
Lynn turned and looked at me.
“A shovel? Why the fuck do you want a shovel? It’s not even fucking dead, yet.”
“I know,” I said. “But what else are we going to do? Take it back with us?”
We both looked back down at the dog which was making a noise that I’d never even heard before and scrabbling at the ground with its two front legs which still seemed to work pretty good.
“It’s a fucking mess, Lynn. It’s shot to shit. It needs finishing off.”
It was pretty obvious to me that this would be the cheapest and kindest way to go about things. I mean, I’m no dog doctor but the poor thing was done for. I could see something shiny and wet hanging out of its middle part and that look that glazed its eyes should have told Lynn the same.
“Fuck you, man. Fuck you. I’m taking this dog back with us. If you don’t like it then you can fucking walk.”
I saw that Lynn wasn’t backing down so I climbed back into the truck and left her to it.
I tried not to watch her at work, it was pretty disgusting and when she finally pulled that dog away from the front of her big red truck, I was nearly sick. She should have listened to me in the first place because that dog, it just fell apart, right there in her hands. The truck must have been keeping it all together, like a sort of barrier, and as soon as Lynn used her strong arms to lift that dog away, it just went thin and limp as its insides flooded across the poorly finished road service. Lynn stood there for a few seconds and looked up at the truck. She squinted into the headlights and looked right at me and, even though I knew she couldn’t really see me, I pursed my lips and blew her a kiss. It was the type of kiss I’d never really used before. I really meant it.
Lynn climbed back into her truck, started the engine and we set off. Driving into the night, silently thinking of missed kisses and that poor dead dog, we had too many words we didn‘t want to say.