I drove by two dead dogs this morning. They weren’t even twenty feet
from one another. Both dark, both large, wolf size and shape.

I can’t help shake the feeling that they were somebody’s pets, and that
now, the people that loved those dogs don’t know why their dogs are

They don’t know that their dogs are dead.

I think about how crushed they will be when they find out.

I feel a lot of remorse for these two dogs that I never even knew, myself.

Why? I thought that I didn’t like dogs as pets.

What is worse? That the dogs could never hope to understand that they
shouldn’t be in the street, at night. Or, is it that they wouldn’t have
to worry about it if they hadn’t even been domesticated in the first
place; if they lived in a place where cars didn’t exist but they never
felt the love that their owners gave to them.

I don’t know why I thought so much into it.

I just passed them on the street, doing 45, in the dark.

Scott Free stumped


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