So two weeks ago my dog got hit by a car. It was a pretty horrific incident wherein I shrieked in ways that neither I or Drew had ever heard. In fact not only did I shriek, but the poor woman who hit the dog also made some pretty absurd sounds. Between the two of us we brought the entire street to their porches to find out what had happened.
Ozzy, thankfully, survived with only what I would equate to a big knee scrape. Here are a couple images of Oz’s minor injuries that you would have thought were far worse had you been privy to my blood curdling screams.
Drew meanwhile was a total hero, gathering the dog who was running around loose in the streets while random lady and I had a high pitched near crying conversation in the middle of the road. Once I realized the dog was okay (some 15 minutes later inside our house) I realized how strange it is to be completely responsible for another being. I felt so guilty that he had gotten across the street in a position to be hit. Ultimately I realize its not something I did, but either way it makes me really value the silly animals healthy (albeit squeaking) presence in our home.
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