Master Kim
May 15th, 2007, 05:43 PM
I don't mean to make this forum my own personal blog, but I have to get this off my chest.
Saturday, May 12th, 2007: My father took me to get a haircut. I complained I didn't need it and that I was in the middle of a game (Halo PC). But he made me go. Since the weather was so divine, we decided to bring our dog with us--Peanut, our beloved Chihuahua-Dachshund mix, also known as a Chiweenie.
When we pulled into the small parking lot near the barber shop, we decided to let our dog outside the car so she could walk around, pee, explore the surroundings, you know, dog stuff. I took my eyes off for a minute and she ran across the road to the other side, where there were other stores and shops opposite to the barber shop. I was panicking, but I couldn't go over to the other side of the road because the traffic was too fucking heavy. Literally, there were no traffic lights, no marked paths where pedestrians could cross to the other side, but an uninterrupted road of asphalt where people drove probably above 30 MPH dividing a group of buildings.
She crossed back and a red car ran her over. It was one of the most tramautic experiences I've ever had in my life. I screamed her name and I ran to her body in the middle of the road and she died in my arms, as blood flowed from her mouth and her eyes stared outward. People came around and traffic continued. My father came, so did the lady at the barber shop who we knew personally, along with some other nearby pedestrians who saw the event. The driver in the red car came to us and apologized, but I don't blame him. A police officer drove by, wrote something on a notepad, somebody got an empty beer box filled with newspaper and my father held and put her limp body into the box. He sent me to the minivan and drove us home.
The guilt is tremendous. I should have kept a closer eye on her. I should have paid attention. I should have kept her in the car. I should have crossed the road despite the heavy traffic.
Then the anger--the driver who ran her over, my father for taking me to get a haircut, my stupid, stupid dog for running across the road.
All in all, I can blame no one. It happened. Too many factors to be accounted for, too many reasons why she died that day. She was less than three-years-old.
I couldn't stop crying, and the tears flowed freely--they still do. I can't imagine life without her. Nobody to cuddle with me on the couch. No furry, warm body to hug and hold before and after a stressful day. No one who is going to sit by the window sill and wait patiently for someone to come home. Nobody's belly to rub. No one to walk outside to enjoy the heavenly weather. No one to beg and roll over for a doggy treat. No one falling asleep while listening to the sound of my father and I playing guitar. No one waiting underneath the fold-up table for some scraps of food. No innocent animal to offer unconditional love, companionship and acceptance. No Peanut. She was unique--there will never be another dog like her.
Everyday I come home now and I cry whenever I see something that reminds me of her. The couch, where so much of her hair was shed on, slept on, played on, jumped on, lived on. Or her chew toy, a little orange dinosaur. The food and water bowl, and her blue bed which my father moved to the basement since it was too painful to see them. One of the worst parts of this is whenever the door opens, whenever somebody knocks on the door, whenever someone rang the doorbell, the sound of it would get my dog's attention and excite her, barking and become active. I open the door and I expect to hear the click-clack of my dog's paws walking across the kitchen tiles to see what's going on.
God blessed me with this beautiful creature; one which taught me how to love and bring our family closer together. How life is worth living. As morbid as it may seem, good things have come from this--the sympathy and comfort of my friends, for example. I've become even more closer with my family than I have before.
I am grief-stricken, but am thankful. It could have been worse. This experience has all the more led me closer to God and now I count my blessings more than ever. I will miss her and always remember her.
Peanut, I love you. Rest in peace.
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1QDWduOWLtaLHjnBTzKXj-fbKFD0PhOuCA0Avdm6eYo-Y3lz-M9OTwk0eAf6neH8P8Yr47D2l3593aKB4uUyHlVtR5yfUOetDg
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1SXM-9LDWcrsogtBKTZR68l58lqPXJGPOVPQLpzk-Y8zKyAvjYkAEmV2VhsUNIJQ9vL7_ePFke3pzIS2SVTJB1qteYP xIsXKbQ
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1XeAhlLFhnq5PCZetdv0D2X5wwQjYGcXDkdJw-TnxKb8t-euDa29glgPsvlLbmakAAEvCRFWW9ENqHCAwnb0XaMJ_0PBitRr mw
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1ZPToKXw74jh070ZeNtNmV1gr34YvGcb0EfZC_92KGpGt-g2ItGrOkpVcSgRtUjVTHMBlJhWOcVkOyEQRj13uyUs1yuFVEdL 5w
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1ThQxjbPfF5MCI5J7OjCwbD5GUsM1tbPnPvVFDg45P3M9h5lIA iCwF82SEAHF-tMqMjWcva2M8ugGjT0EnXp4reHMUQDrhHVuA
That's my father in this picture:
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1bCUWenY8B47dxWImbEPZwkz30in8zdvIcQJefEoUPL0b6O0OY t8XV3PmV_uWfVJ-V_qKm8rahqCDQ0-tW-USpdrErfJz_96yg
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1cUMIRxG0ZnxWJkgXT0yAF_NwfEztvDR4cqmXj8r_rao34v5TS irBXiKYVVcV48GcPCUxrFoHSZIrJqgM8qEW54VpbQ2tW-nxg
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1bIwWifKzIf62k-RPCWTfMpkHcfM6cPfrs1hMLnhCLYdgFSguVjTIxQJbjepGs4Bj 6U-DcC7EdMsqOZoKcRf1ZsN4W3wIth_Iw
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1ceCaEH3Qdr2gfGJ9LCFDMSkT6nFlHJiTg-d4apN07w6Im22Cc4RPw7Q9TW4SP57ka9drtcq8Ee7n87eZAmrX KImzQReKFsSQA
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1YphbbiadHYM_qfNBXtyA_tw3GhehCRQXfV_2wpzpKBOQmszPJ WIeffZh9oUw-_SIUPqqFFC_L_KfHerr_f0ej2NjBNaVUi-GQ
Saturday, May 12th, 2007: My father took me to get a haircut. I complained I didn't need it and that I was in the middle of a game (Halo PC). But he made me go. Since the weather was so divine, we decided to bring our dog with us--Peanut, our beloved Chihuahua-Dachshund mix, also known as a Chiweenie.
When we pulled into the small parking lot near the barber shop, we decided to let our dog outside the car so she could walk around, pee, explore the surroundings, you know, dog stuff. I took my eyes off for a minute and she ran across the road to the other side, where there were other stores and shops opposite to the barber shop. I was panicking, but I couldn't go over to the other side of the road because the traffic was too fucking heavy. Literally, there were no traffic lights, no marked paths where pedestrians could cross to the other side, but an uninterrupted road of asphalt where people drove probably above 30 MPH dividing a group of buildings.
She crossed back and a red car ran her over. It was one of the most tramautic experiences I've ever had in my life. I screamed her name and I ran to her body in the middle of the road and she died in my arms, as blood flowed from her mouth and her eyes stared outward. People came around and traffic continued. My father came, so did the lady at the barber shop who we knew personally, along with some other nearby pedestrians who saw the event. The driver in the red car came to us and apologized, but I don't blame him. A police officer drove by, wrote something on a notepad, somebody got an empty beer box filled with newspaper and my father held and put her limp body into the box. He sent me to the minivan and drove us home.
The guilt is tremendous. I should have kept a closer eye on her. I should have paid attention. I should have kept her in the car. I should have crossed the road despite the heavy traffic.
Then the anger--the driver who ran her over, my father for taking me to get a haircut, my stupid, stupid dog for running across the road.
All in all, I can blame no one. It happened. Too many factors to be accounted for, too many reasons why she died that day. She was less than three-years-old.
I couldn't stop crying, and the tears flowed freely--they still do. I can't imagine life without her. Nobody to cuddle with me on the couch. No furry, warm body to hug and hold before and after a stressful day. No one who is going to sit by the window sill and wait patiently for someone to come home. Nobody's belly to rub. No one to walk outside to enjoy the heavenly weather. No one to beg and roll over for a doggy treat. No one falling asleep while listening to the sound of my father and I playing guitar. No one waiting underneath the fold-up table for some scraps of food. No innocent animal to offer unconditional love, companionship and acceptance. No Peanut. She was unique--there will never be another dog like her.
Everyday I come home now and I cry whenever I see something that reminds me of her. The couch, where so much of her hair was shed on, slept on, played on, jumped on, lived on. Or her chew toy, a little orange dinosaur. The food and water bowl, and her blue bed which my father moved to the basement since it was too painful to see them. One of the worst parts of this is whenever the door opens, whenever somebody knocks on the door, whenever someone rang the doorbell, the sound of it would get my dog's attention and excite her, barking and become active. I open the door and I expect to hear the click-clack of my dog's paws walking across the kitchen tiles to see what's going on.
God blessed me with this beautiful creature; one which taught me how to love and bring our family closer together. How life is worth living. As morbid as it may seem, good things have come from this--the sympathy and comfort of my friends, for example. I've become even more closer with my family than I have before.
I am grief-stricken, but am thankful. It could have been worse. This experience has all the more led me closer to God and now I count my blessings more than ever. I will miss her and always remember her.
Peanut, I love you. Rest in peace.
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1QDWduOWLtaLHjnBTzKXj-fbKFD0PhOuCA0Avdm6eYo-Y3lz-M9OTwk0eAf6neH8P8Yr47D2l3593aKB4uUyHlVtR5yfUOetDg
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1SXM-9LDWcrsogtBKTZR68l58lqPXJGPOVPQLpzk-Y8zKyAvjYkAEmV2VhsUNIJQ9vL7_ePFke3pzIS2SVTJB1qteYP xIsXKbQ
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1XeAhlLFhnq5PCZetdv0D2X5wwQjYGcXDkdJw-TnxKb8t-euDa29glgPsvlLbmakAAEvCRFWW9ENqHCAwnb0XaMJ_0PBitRr mw
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1ZPToKXw74jh070ZeNtNmV1gr34YvGcb0EfZC_92KGpGt-g2ItGrOkpVcSgRtUjVTHMBlJhWOcVkOyEQRj13uyUs1yuFVEdL 5w
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1ThQxjbPfF5MCI5J7OjCwbD5GUsM1tbPnPvVFDg45P3M9h5lIA iCwF82SEAHF-tMqMjWcva2M8ugGjT0EnXp4reHMUQDrhHVuA
That's my father in this picture:
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1bCUWenY8B47dxWImbEPZwkz30in8zdvIcQJefEoUPL0b6O0OY t8XV3PmV_uWfVJ-V_qKm8rahqCDQ0-tW-USpdrErfJz_96yg
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1cUMIRxG0ZnxWJkgXT0yAF_NwfEztvDR4cqmXj8r_rao34v5TS irBXiKYVVcV48GcPCUxrFoHSZIrJqgM8qEW54VpbQ2tW-nxg
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1bIwWifKzIf62k-RPCWTfMpkHcfM6cPfrs1hMLnhCLYdgFSguVjTIxQJbjepGs4Bj 6U-DcC7EdMsqOZoKcRf1ZsN4W3wIth_Iw
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1ceCaEH3Qdr2gfGJ9LCFDMSkT6nFlHJiTg-d4apN07w6Im22Cc4RPw7Q9TW4SP57ka9drtcq8Ee7n87eZAmrX KImzQReKFsSQA
http://byfiles.storage.msn.com/x1pN1mp8dKYgTFGaqigz6l-1YphbbiadHYM_qfNBXtyA_tw3GhehCRQXfV_2wpzpKBOQmszPJ WIeffZh9oUw-_SIUPqqFFC_L_KfHerr_f0ej2NjBNaVUi-GQ