Viva El Perro; Commemorating Cinco De Mayo

One year ago, I almost lost Bela. And when I say 'lost her', I mean in that big, sweeping sense. As in completely. We were playing fetch in an unfenced area when she got in in her guns to take off.  She first ran to a tree where she'd spotted a squirrel. After the squirrel ran up the tree, Bela ran again --  this time, seemingly for the the sake of running, for the feeling in her legs. It wasn't an accident; it was intentional. She ran into traffic with the wind at her back.

Ever the extremist, she didn't run into the intersection of Hermitage and Haddon, where we live -- or even Division and Paulina -- this death naysayer ran into the 3-way intersection of AUGUSTA, MILWAUKEE AND I-94.

"BelAAAAAAAAAAA! Beeeelllllaaaaaaaa!!, I screamed, running full speed, down a sidewalk, after her. A car stopped and pulled over to the side of the road. A man in his mid-thirties jumped out of the driver seat and ran interference. He put both hands on my shoulders, as if to shake or ground me. "You CAN'T go over there," he said, firmly. My heart was pumping, my mind racing, my dog out of my line of sight and I shook my head at him in wonder. "She's my dog and I'm GOING TO HER," I replied. He put me up against a wall in order to restrain me. The need to protect me then so strong that his pretty young wife got out of her seat, leaving their infant unattended in the back. She tried a more womanly approach, softly saying that I just 'couldn't see that.' That I should 'just stay back.' I remember being called 'honey'. I remember feeling that I was being confined, talked down to and denied my rights as a mother. I got ANGRY. I shook the two of them off with fervor and finished my sprint into the intersection, terrified at what I believed I was to find there. Her body mangled. I had the image already in my mind. They had given that to me. That was what their impositions and so-called allegiances to me had conveyed.

But when I actually arrived at the intersection, there wasn't a lot going on. A car had pulled over to the side and the driver had exited. He was the one who had hit her. I barely looked at him, my eyes searching for her body next to his wheel. He threw his hands up, exasperated, and seemed to be voicing something about her running into his car and where did she go.........????

Once I understood that he truly didn't know, that's when real panic set in. Because if he didn't know where Bela's body was....then how could I sit next to it while it died? How could I offer a sense of calm, a hand for her palm? How could I comfort her in her final (likely scared) moments before she drifted away from this world?   

And so my search began. I ran, screaming her name in a blood-curdling fashion, from block to block, coming back to the scene of the crime and then heading out again. I was wild. I was no longer worried that Bela 'could be hurt' --- I was ONLY intent on holding her face and letting her know I was with her while she passed. I only wanted to be a piece of peace. And I couldn't make it happen. I couldn't find my baby to be with her. There was no 'but Lord, I don't want her to go...' It was only, 'as she goes, Lord, may I PLEASE LORD PLEASE just get to stroke her back and look into her eyes and sing to her.....PLEASE LORD PLEASE. PLEASE. I begged God.

I was standing there as traffic whizzed by me, my plight unimportant to the world around me. And I kept wondering, 'how long do I wait here before I make my feet walk....[away]'? Aware that she could very well be miles from where I now stood, as it is a well-known fact that injured animals often flee and find a place to die in solitude. I did not think I could live, not knowing where she'd gone. Not knowing if she'd died immediately, lived through hellatious moments of suffering, or been spared, and simply moved on to a new chapter in her life.

The driver now gone, I stood near where he had been. I looked up to the skies and cried, my vocal cords still sputtering her name. And then, just like that, as I whimpered...my eyes led my head to a row of bushes, where a little brown dog stood, having just emerged from them.

It was a very quiet moment. She looked shell-shocked. I felt the same. I slowly walked over to her. She was whole. She was standing. She was brown, not red, and had two ears and four legs and a middle body. My dog. Alive. In front of me; not miles down the road or on the side of the highway or in the otherworlds. She was right there for me to lean down and touch. And so I did. I noticed her head was bleeding, so I gently picked her up, unsure of bleeding that I possibly couldn't see.

A boy that had seen me running offered to act as an ambulence. You could see a touch of concern for the interior of his little black sportscar, as we climbed in. "I'll hold her on my lap," I said. We drove up Milwaukee to North Avenue and turned left. Bela was breathing, so we felt relieved enough to talk. He had gone to U of I like myself. His parents lived in the suburbs and he was living in the city now. He couldn't have been more than 22. I think his name was Kyle --- or Kevin -- or Ken. Something with a K. Something that intimated a quietude.

He let me out on the north side of North Avenue and I had to cross the street. There was no crosswalk. Normally crossing without a crosswalk would have me tuned into every bumper in the vicinity, but I just Took The Street. She had ALREADY been hit by a car. What was one of these stop-and-go vehicles going to do to us?

As I neared the front door to the vet's office, I remember thinking, 'Oh shit...I'm not going to be able to open the door. I have my dog here - in my arms - and she's a little big for the hoisting and I'm really worried about her organs right now and I can't risk dropping her by releasing one arm from under her body...so...what the HELLLLLL AM I GOING TO DO ONCE IT'S ME AND THAT DOOR HANDLE, facing off!???'

Well, I suppose my wild-eyes and hair and tear-streaked face and blood-stained jeans walking through a busy street may have called the attention of those inside. Because one vet technician ran to open the doors for me, as another stood behind her, waiting to transport my dog to the emergency room. I spurt out the only thing I knew at that time: "she. got. hit. by. a. car."

My legs shook under my seat. I wanted to call anyone - or everyone -- to make someone live through this with me, because doing it alone felt like too much. Then I looked up. The Boy K was coming through the doors. He came in to sit by me in a cold plastic chair, just to comfort me a minute longer.

Bela later left with some staples in her leg and some bandaging on her head, but besides that -- she was fine. She was going to heal and I needed to give them $800...but she was fine.

She dozed in and out of sleep all afternoon on her fainting couch. It was HOURS after finding her outside those bushes that I saw her actually see me. She woke up, looked over and then seemed to realize who I was and where she was. Her eyes got all fluttery and excited and she waited for me to bring my face to hers so she could lick it.

That's when I realized that even after I found her, she'd been gone. Her mind had heeded her ears when they heard me, but her body didn't know she'd made it until that moment. And it was that same moment, that I truly knew she was home as well. That it was over. I laid back on the couch to relish in watching her recover, and thanked God.