Update: Since I posted this blog last night, a friend of mine did some research, and as it turns out, the following tale is an urban legend. I must concede that I was duped completely. Oh, well. Hey, in my opinion it’s still a great story , so enjoy!

For some reason, dogs get the short end of the stick when they appear in this blog (see “Tail” of Woe). This strange true tale of woe, told to me by a friend, is no exception…

A young woman—let’s say her name is Nicole—was put in charge of watching her friends’ dog, an old German Shepherd, while her two friends (a married couple) were away on vacation. One bright summer afternoon, Nicole went to her friends’ apartment to check on the dog. She found it on the kitchen floor, dead.

Not knowing what exactly to do, Nicole called her friends and told them the sad news. Her friends were upset to be sure, but the dog was old and they were not wholly surprised by its demise. Not wanting to cut short their vacation, however, Nicole’s friends asked her if she could take the dog to the veterinarian and have it cremated. Nicole agreed.

Now, most people at this point would have called Animal Services or something, but I should let you know that this event happened in my hometown, Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania, and God knows if they even have such a thing as Animal Services like they do here in Los Angeles (a quick Google search for “Animal Services Mechanicsburg” didn’t yield too many useful results). But, of course, if Nicole was that sensible, this story wouldn’t be heading in the unfortunate direction it’s going, and the world would be short one perplexing story. But I digress…

Nicole tried to move the dog, but did so with much difficulty. First of all, the dog weighed over seventy pounds; and Nicole herself barely weighed 100 lbs. She soon realized there was no way she was going to get the dog out the apartment door, down the hallway, into the elevator, and out to her car without some kind of assistance. So, Nicole called the dog’s owners again.

The owners suggested that Nicole put the dead dog in a suitcase they owned, which was large and had wheels. Yes, a suitcase. Nicole agreed. So, Nicole stuffed the dead dog into a suitcase and wheeled it out of the apartment and to her car outside. But when Nicole went to lift the heavy suitcase into her trunk, she was again met with difficulty.

Fortunately, a man driving by stopped his car and asked Nicole if she needed any help. Nicole said, yes, she did. The man got out of his car and lifted the suitcase, felt its weight.

“Jesus,” he said. “This is heavy. What do you have in here?”

Nicole, not wanting to tell the stranger that she had a dead German Shepherd in a suitcase, said something to the effect of Well, I’m moving and I basically put my entire life in this suitcase.

Then, the man who offered his assistance presumably realized how valuable the suitcase was if it in fact had the young girl’s worldly possessions in it. So, he did what any sensible man in his situation would do:

He punched Nicole in the stomach, snatched the suitcase, jumped in his car, and drove away.

And that’s one way to get rid of a dead dog.

Hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving and ate turkey without glass in it. Now, on with the woe…

This happened about a week ago. If you are an animal lover, I warn you. This is not a happy story.

It was Friday afternoon, and I had just got off work. I was in my car, driving south and obeying the speed limit (35 mph). I called my friend–via a hands-free cellular device–as I was to meet up with her later. I got her voice mail and began to leave my message:

Hey, it’s Mike. I just got off of work, and I’m in my car, heading home. It’s about 5:07pm. I’m hatless, repeat hatless. Anyway, just wanted to know if you…

Then it happened. A small, short-haired dog ran in front of my car. I hit the brakes. I even swerved a little. But it was too late. I heard a thump before I could stop my car.

I looked in the rear view mirror. The street behind me was empty. No cars and, more importantly, no dog. And I was still leaving my message:

Whoah! Oh, my God. I can’t believe it. Son-of-a-bitch. I just ran over a small animal. I just hit a dog. Oh, man. I can’t believe it. This, this is ridiculous. Unbelievable. I…I can’t. Oh, man…just…just call me back.

Or something like that. Eventually, while I was on the freeway, my friend called back. I confirmed what had just happened. I felt terrible. She asked me if I had stopped, and told her how had I slowed down but didn’t see the dog. She said she hoped the dog wasn’t stuck under my car. I hadn’t thought of that. Oh, God, I thought, as I hung up.

Driving to my destination, I imagined the dog stuck under my front axle, dragging along the road at 70 mph. Finally, when I reached my friends’ apartment, I checked all around the car and underneath it. Nothing. No damage, no blood, no small dog. It was a relief, for sure, but I was still sad nonetheless. I went inside their apartment, hung my head, went to the fridge, and grabbed a beer.