My short story below, is about 1,200 words, so you probably wont finish it quickly. It’s an interesting story though, and if you do read it to the end, please tell me if you think it’s fact or fiction.
The Dog Hit Us
We were driving north on route 381, when a dog ran into the side of Joe’s Ford Pinto. I know, you’re thinking, “What?” Let me explain. It happened late one night in the early 1970’s. Several hours before this strange incident occurred, my friend Joe and I dropped a hit of acid a piece. It must have been pretty good, because eight hours later we were still going strong.
Driving while intoxicated is something that has been frowned a pone for years, but it was something that I either did or was a part of until 1989. I wasn’t driving this time, and Joe was on a mission. He enjoyed driving and wanted to do some donuts in neighboring yards. I don’t think they were enemies, I think it was just something he wanted to do. The first several yards went off without a hitch, three donuts apiece, then it was Sergeant Smith’s yard. When Joe did donuts, it wasn’t just one, he went round and round till he thought the yard had enough. The Sergeant’s yard was no different, although there was a hitch this time. The car stalled out in the process of the third Smith donut. I was already nervous, because I had no choice of three donuts, two donuts or any at all. I would rather enjoy the acid without going round and round tearing up someone’s front yard.
About the fourth time Joe tried to start the car, the front porch light came on. No matter how scared I was, I was able to turn slightly to the right and peer over my shoulder toward the house. In the shadow of the dimly lit porch, I saw a figure with a long cylindrical item extended from his right arm. This form was standing at the edge of some steps that led down to the front yard. I couldn’t be sure, but it was likely that this person was the serge. The imaginary suggested that it was a shotgun hanging from his hand, so I ducked below the back of the seat. About that time the car started and off we went with grass and dirt flying everywhere. I looked at Joe and his return look was accompanied with a loud scream of triumph.
We were heading in the direction of 381, but since Joe was from the area, back road trips were something that always took place. I’m not talking about the typical blacktop back roads, because we were already on them. This was a farming region and one farm would typically lead to another farm, way back in the fields. We ended up driving from an area called, ‘Dog Patch’ to an area near a country store called ‘The Little Store.’ From there we headed north on 381, in the direction of Washington D.C. When we were doing the donuts, I knew we were going as fast as that little Pinto could go. I knew this, because I could feel it in my chest. However, at that point I think we were going the speed limit, but we figured out later that when we were driving much slower than that. The next part of the story will explain why I think this.
The slow pace of the gravel roads calmed me down from the near heart attack of the donuts. However, I was still immersed in a strong trip. Route 381 is not an interstate or highway, it was a single lane black top road with houses on both sides, and sometimes the houses are pretty close to the road. We already out ran a few dogs, that were trying to catch our hubcaps, but then it happened, a dog caught us. Yep, this dog ran into the driver side of the car, we noticed later that it hit us hard enough to dent the driver door. From the point of contact we traveled no further than thirty feet. Since the dog was able to catch us and we were able to stop within thirty feet, we figured we were driving really slow in a fifty mile an hour speed zone.
It was around four o’clock in the morning, when we stopped, turned around, and then parked on the broken white line in the middle of the road. We sat there frozen, while facing the dog for what felt like hours, but I’m sure it was only a few minutes. The dog was also laying on the broken white line, and as if it was planned there wasn’t a car in sight. I can’t remember if the radio was ever on that night, but at that moment there wasn’t a sound in the world except for my heart beat.
Neither of us wanted to be there, we certainly didn’t want to look at a dead dog in the middle of the road. It was an immediate downer and the trip was over. Amid the looming fear we decided to pull the dog out of the road. Without looking at each other we both reached for the door handles at the same time and stepped outside of the car at the same time, only to walk no further than the front of it. I was feeling terrible that we had something to do with the death of this poor animal and I’m sure Joe was too. We looked at each other as if on cue, then stepped toward the lifeless dog. I started to feel the effects of the drug again, maybe the fresh air and the uncertainty of the situation restored the stimuli that I didn’t really want at this time. Joe was on the left of the dog and I was ten feet away on the right of it. We slowly stepped toward the horror that we both shared. I inched closer to what I knew would be an ongoing nightmare for years to come.
Neither one of us were taking charge of the situation. Without a word said, we knew Joe would grab the front legs and I would grab the back ones. As we started to bend over and remove the dog, it jumped up and darted into the darkness toward a house on Joe’s side of the road. When this happened we both jumped back, I fell flat on my butt and Joe stumbled but somehow stayed on his feet. I was stunned as we both wandered back to the front of the car, before we got back in the car we turned around and noticed some vapor rising from a pile of poop and a splash of pee that the dog left in the middle of the road.
There were still no cars coming or bystanders from the nearby houses, so we took our time getting back in the car. I looked at Joe and said, “At least we didn’t kill it”.
Joe said, “All we did was scare the shit out of it.”
‘fact or fiction’