I was a bystander when you hit that dog with your car on Heil Avenue. I didn’t see it, but I heard it: The loud thud-crack-HOWL! will forever haunt me. So I rushed to the scene to see what had happened, and you were decent enough to get out and see if the dog was alive. The dog was, but barely so, panting and bleeding as it lay under a bush it had hobbled to, while its owners, a disheveled young lady and her mother, were beside themselves with panic and fear. So I rushed back to my apartment to get water, some towels and a vet-hospital phone number, and when I got back, you were gone. I asked the mom where you went. She said you had left; in her state of panic and disarray, she had forgotten to get your phone number. So instead of you helping her to call the vet and make sure her daughter was all right while she watched her best friend suffer, I, along with a few other bystanders, stayed there, called the vet, gave the dog water, rubbed the crying young lady’s back and consoled the panic-stricken mother. You didn’t have the decency to help out, and then you took off without giving your phone number so they could get some help paying for the eventual vet bill. I hope the rest of your Monday wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you!
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This column appeared in print as "To Call You a Dog Would Be an Insult to Dogs."