After I drove away I
took the dog to the nearby pond where there was a dumpster. I don't
know if that was the best way to send this beloved pet off but I was
so rattled it was the only thing I could think of. I drove up to the
dumpster and opened the trunk. I wrapped the nearly dead animal in
the blanket so I wouldn't have to touch him and tried to lower the
blanket and dog as gently as I could into the dumpster. Towards the
end of the lowering I dropped the dog a little and he yelped
piteously. I was crying a little when I got back into my car and I
considered the dog's slow suffering death and decided that ethically
I was bound to kill the dog to save it the suffering. I sat in the
car thinking of how to dispatch the mortally wounded animal and
couldn't work up the courage to use a knife to mercifully end his
misery. The only other thing I could think to do was to smash his
head with a heavy rock and I couldn't bring myself to do it. I
finally gave in and drove off without doing anything resigning the
poor helpless creature to a slow painful death. I hated that I was a
coward, I hated that I had hit a dog, and I hated myself most of all.
I went home and got in the tub and cried for a little bit. When I was
done I got a flashlight, a gun and some bullets and resolved to do
the right thing. I drove back, pulled up to the dumpster, shined the
flashlight in and saw the now dead dog that had struggled free from
the blanket before dying. The agony of my failure hit me too hard and
I vomited on the ground and then said sorry to the dog and cursed
myself for being such a coward and letting this poor animal suffer. I
drove home and went to bed without talking to anyone.
