It was a warm, breezy summer night. It was me and the whole gang together. I thought I’d kick back with my friends and have a few beers or go to the movies. We had decided to meet at my place before heading out to see where the night might take us.
| Did you enjoy this article? Leave a comment below! And check out all of the great new content from YA Magazine on young adult books, top teen novels, young adult TV shows, movie casting news, young adult literature, and more! Follow us on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. |
I couldn’t believe how beautiful everything was. All of us together. It’d been forever since I’d seen Lana and Dan. Dan was still keeping it real in our hometown and Lana was off kicking it in study abroad programs all across the world. Me, I’d been having the normal college experience: sleeping in too late, only barely turning in assignments, and meeting everyone I possibly could. In other words, I was a naive freshman. I looked forward to nights like these because the stress of school just evaporated. I was back with my buddies, and nothing could go wrong.
It was finally time to head out. Dan had parked on the other side of the road because our driveway was down a pretty steep hill; backing out was dangerous. We stood leaning against the car, smoking our dirty little habits instead of stinking up the interior.
This is when that gorgeous warm night turned into a nightmare.
You see, I had a dog named Clover. I was ten when we got her. She was just an adorable pup then, a German Short-haired with paws and head too big for her little body. When she was big enough, she would take my baby sister for piggyback rides.
Clover and I were really close. I’d had her for over half of my life. Before I left for college, we used to cuddle every night before falling asleep together. I would wake up every morning to her stinky breath and wet dog kisses on my nose.
As we were standing at the car, preparing to leave, I noticed Clover had gotten out. She was running around in the field next to our house. When she realized where we were standing, she bounded over to us.
Just as Clover began to cross the road, a black SUV came whipping around the corner. The SUV didn’t slow down.
I was on the other side of the road and couldn’t get to Clover fast enough.
The SUV hit her and just kept on going, disappearing into the night as if nothing had happened. Not only had the car been going insanely fast, much too fast for the kind of road it was on, but it also didn’t even bother to stop to check on her. The sports car that had been behind the SUV even stopped! The owner saw us all standing there in the road, screaming and crying and running over to Clover.
The woman in the sports car asked us if we were okay and if she could do anything. It was hard to talk through the tears.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How could this be happening? I knew people thought she was just a dog, but Clover was one of my best friends. I had known her longer than I’d known most of my human friends! She was like a fluffy little sister to me.
Dan thanked the other driver for stopping. He said he didn’t know if there was much that she could do.
At least he could get it together. I could barely utter a word. I just held Clover in my arms and hugged her, examining her body.
She was bleeding all over. I yelled for someone to get my dad.
Lana ran inside to tell him what happened. He came running, looking confused. My dad leaned down to pick up Clover and bring her to the side of the road.
I was soaked in blood.
Dad yelled at me and Dan to get out of the road. He said he couldn’t take anyone else getting hit tonight. He yelled a lot, asking why we had been standing next to the road in the first place.
I knew how upset I was and, the thing is, I could see the hurt in my dad’s eyes.
I kept asking, “Is there an ER in vet hospitals, Dad? What number can we call?”
He couldn’t bring himself to respond.
When I saw his tears, streaming down his face under the sliver of moonlight, I knew why he wouldn’t respond. My dad doesn’t cry about anything unless it’s serious.
Clover wasn’t going to make it, even if we called.
When my dad moved Clover out of the road, I noticed just how much blood she had lost. Even moving her made her yelp out in pain.
My dad seemed to look right through me as he said, “I’m sorry, honey. We have to put her down.”
I cried even harder than before.
“She’s lost too much blood; she’s in too much pain. Please,” my dad said, “go inside and clean yourself off. Dan, I need you to call the cops.”
Lana wrapped her arms around me and brought me inside to the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror was like looking into an alternate reality. I was in shock.
I kept saying, “This is a nightmare. Wake up now. Just wake up. Wake up, and Clover will be lying right next to you, and things will be fine.”
I didn’t wake up. No matter how hard I tried to jerk myself awake, nothing happened. I was still there, still standing in front of the mirror, letting the water pour over my hands and wishing Dan hadn’t parked across the street.
This was all my fault. I should’ve made sure she was locked inside. I shouldn’t have stood outside at the car with my friends. If we hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t have tried to cross the street?
I knew that wasn’t a good way to think about things, but my guilt consumed me.
By the time I got outside again, the sheriff was already there. He apologized to me for what had happened, then asked me and my friends to say goodbye to Clover while we could.
As my dad continued to hold her, I pet Clover’s head. I told her how much I loved her and how good of a dog she had been. I told her I would never forget her.
Dan and Lana stood around us and told her I was right: she’d been a great dog. If Dog Heaven existed, she would definitely be sent there.
My dad stood up holding Clover and walked with the sheriff into the field beside our house. They went behind a few trees, and we all turned our heads to look the opposite way.
Looking away didn’t help. We heard the shot. The deed was done.
It was amazing to me—and not amazing in a good way, but in a ridiculous and hard-to-believe way—that the person who hit my dog never slowed down or stopped to see if she was okay. Did they ever feel sorry? Was there any guilt? What was so important that they couldn’t stop to help?
I mean, everyone makes mistakes, yeah. But the worst mistake was not even trying to fix things.
At the same time, the fact that the woman in the second car stopped has shown me that some people are good. She didn’t even hit Clover, but she cared enough to see if there was anything she could do, and she was still there waiting with us until the end. She had wanted to talk to the sheriff and give him information about the other car.
My dad and the sheriff came back to us. I could see the sorrow in my dad’s eyes.
Because we were all still such a mess, the sheriff took the woman to the side to let us grieve.
He interviewed her about the car that had hit Clover, then they both left… after apologizing as much as they could to us. I thanked them for their kindness.
I admit, I was upset that the sheriff shot my Clover. But I knew that if he hadn’t put her down, she would have continued to suffer. I just wish we could have taken her to a vet, given her medicine to take away the pain before they put her to sleep. Even that would have been too much suffering , though.
My dad put Clover’s body in a big bag, so that we could bury her the next day. Lana and Dan stayed with me all night.
I didn’t sleep very well.
We all woke up earlier the next day to give her a proper burial. I wrote a simple poem for her:
?Clover, my loving pup,?Clover, just like the four-leafed ones,?Full of life and full of love,?My own personal gem of luck,?My dearest little ball of fluff,?In our heads and hearts forever,?And forever isn’t long enough.
I couldn’t let Clover’s death be in vain. I had to do something to honor her memory. I started volunteering at the local animal shelter.
Because of Clover’s tragic end, I realized what I wanted to do with my life, and in that way, her death served a purpose. When I went back to school in the fall, I changed my major. I went from ‘undecided’ to ‘pre-veterinary’.
I grieved for a long time. Maybe I’m still grieving today, keeping my promise to never forget. I miss my dog sleeping beside me. I miss her stinky breath and sloppy nose-kisses in the morning.
I know she was just a dog, but she was my dog. She was like a sister to me.