THE ACCIDENT

THE ACCIDENT

Arguably, and obviously, it was no real way to live....

An Italian author, Cesar Pavese, once said: "We do not remember days, we remember moments."

The protagonist of this story had always took that to mean the following: As long as one has many, many happy moments throughout the course of one's existence then the actual amount of days lived is irrelevant.

Unfortunately, she has to confess that she has neither lived a long life nor a prosperous or contented one. In fact, more and more, it is getting harder and harder for her to remember having had any happy moments under such a sun.

This occurrence is not only a consequence of old age forcing her brain to become fragile and feeble. No, it is not simply forgetfulness reeking havoc on her perception of events. It is also because moments of elation have greatly decreased in number, to an almost negative integer, as time sighs by.

However, she is becoming more and more acquiescent and resigned with each breath she breathes, each step she takes, and each thought she thinks. She used to resist it with a vengeance, now she simply shakes her head, screams silently, and lets the sea change inundate her senses. Although she is flooded, soaking, and heavy with water weight- she is more or less okay with her fate.

Affirmative, she has more or less resigned herself to this. She has resigned herself to walking around the block once a month, or sometimes even less. She has resigned herself to greedily gobbling down leftovers, or the same stale and crude food, from a bowl left on the floor- not that she even really tastes her food anymore. Eating- a once enjoyable experience, a once joyous occasion, has given away to maintenance. Alas, she has more or less resigned herself to this.

When she was younger it seemed as if there were so much more to look forward to, so much more to live for. When she was younger it seemed as if life had so much more to offer.

Now, however, the mundane and trivial were all exciting. Now that she is older every banal and prosaic non-event or inanity has become a cause for celebration. Every little thing has transformed from the norm into a means to induce some sort of glee in her normally joyless, pointless existence. For instance, when school let out, at around 3pm, she happily waited by the window to watch the young students walk by. This gave her so much amusement and pleasure that she often made lots of noises, jumped up and down on the carpet as best as she could, and twirled around in circles on the tile until she was dizzy and tired. Then, after such moments, she'd curl up in a little ball and sleep for hours on end. She dreamt.

What she'd dream of was never very easy to remember or moreover explain. Not that anybody was listening, anyway. Not that anybody could understand the things she would say.

In the beginning of the end she despised her surrogate family vehemently.

Obviously, prior to her misfortunes, she had loved them deeply and the fact that this love seemed to be currently unrequited injured her to her core. It rattled and hurt her sensitive, sentient being immensely. It was as if nobody on the face of the planet- not one soul on earth- cared about her anymore, not even her own family.

Therefore, she slowly and reluctantly began growing sour towards them. She slowly but surely began to recede into herself, meeting and greeting everybody with a cool and cruel detachment. This is not to say that her family did not love her; they did, or at least they used to. But naturally, nature took its toll on her once youthful and exuberant body and attitude. And, it seemed since then that her family had neglected her. Inevitably, eventually, they begun to tire of her presence; leaving her feeling disowned, washed up, and unwanted.

She was, more or less, all but forgotten. She was, in essence, just another eyesore.

Sure, they never abused or ignored her to the point of any suffering. At least not physically. But emotionally and mentally she frequently spent incalculable minutes in anguish. She spent insurmountable seconds in the complete antithesis of bliss.

She never quite understood why she was saved, given a godly name, and then left to rot in such a cold, cold house. In such a hollow place, such a dreary empty space.

At first, initially, when she was brought home from that awful shelter for abandoned and/or abused animals she was loved like she'd never known possible. She was doted on and catered to- simply put, everything she wanted she got. Every wish was granted. And furthermore, she was never scolded or punished for her transgressions. Rather, her family found them endearing and even went as far as to take photographs of her mishaps on several separate occasions. All of that did not last. Unfortunately and obviously. All things born grow old and it seems the eventual and inevitable goal of all living entities is to die. Every creature in the world begins its demise as soon as it is born. Moreover, before reaching death, before finding eternal reprieve in the eternity long sleep of mortality, all things begin to decay.

All things change. All things rearrange. All things age.

She liked to think, at least, that she aged quite nicely. Sure, she got whiskers of grey on her already very hairy face. Surely, her body- beaten down by everything- became old and creaky. Her bones often felt like walking on the floorboards of a very ancient house or a museum. Also, she had some type of arthritis in her hip. Yet, for the most part she was able to maintain her fresh friskiness, her aforementioned youthful exuberance. That is, until the accident.

Well, accident may not be the best way to put it.

Let's just say it was early spring. Flowers were blossoming. Birds were humming. And those beautiful buzzing little bees, that had occasionally proven to be tiny enemies, were bumbling all about the scenery. In the beginning, she was only sitting outside listening, watching, witnessing all the life happening around her. All of the beauty. She was caught up in thought. She was busy remembering days of yore in which she was the main attraction of this establishment. Before the kids began to grow. Before Nintendo. Before Television in every room. Before telephones too. Before all of these technological distractions and contraptions, she was indeed the main attraction. Often stroked and comforted for hours on end. Often taken on long, long walks accompanied by the whole family. These outings that she so thoroughly enjoyed, so greatly cherished, were floating by behind her eyelids in the shape of memories. These memories like magic were encircling her brain making her whole body feel drowsily heavy with the lovely sensation of beauty.

So, naturally she wasn't even contemplating chasing after the birds or bees. She was content simply being a witness- initially.

It wasn't until she decided to arise from her place of resting, in order to relieve herself on the trunk of a tree, that these happy memories coupled with the weather made her feel energetic and lithe. Animated and full of life.

In the end, the following moment- the moment of the accident- was a sheer coincidence. An inspired second of exuberance unfortunately met with disaster and eventually ending in tragedy, resulting in the greatest depression of her entire existence.

See, persuaded by the magnificent scents of spring, the melodies and harmonies of singing creatures flying by in the breeze, and recollections of her life in its prime she did something ill-advised. Feeling so content and nostalgic of healthier periods, she jumped- with shaky footing- into the trees attempting not to kill or injure but to catch a butterfly in her mouth. She was not planning on crunching it between her teeth- and surely! she would not be munching or eating its wonderfully multicolored body. She simply wanted to play a game. To play God and be in control of this little creatures fate, even if only in jest. Even if only for a second.

Thus, as previously stated, imbued with confidence, she lunged into the air from her place of resting. She lunged recklessly in the direction of the rainbow-hued diurnal insect.

And, at that exact instant, at this precise moment, a tendon in her hind leg snapped.

She let out a yelp, a cry of pain- which nobody heard- and fell to the ground defeated. It was not until much later when the members of her household, her owners, came home from work and school, that she was found.

She was found still on the ground, lying on her side panting and crying silently.

For humans wouldn't know it and never ever notice but canines cry. Yes, domestic pets shed tears. Tears of the worst type, tears of the worst kind. For these tears are always silent and go unnoticed.

It was determined by the veterinarian that the dog had really done herself in. She had torn not only a tendon but ligaments- which connect bones and cartilage- and her future was forecasted, clinically, to be quite bleak.

To make matters much worse, almost to an unbearable degree, at the time of the accident her family was experiencing financial difficulties. Naturally, the once young puppy turned old invalid crippled doggy wasn't well equipped mentally to understand such matters. However, she was clever enough to gather that the family business was nearing bankruptcy. She also was no dummy and intuited- for animals are much more intuitive beings than humans could ever hope to be- that the relationship between her surrogate parents was also enduring and experiencing difficulties.

Many a night, while she wallowed in misery laying awake not eating a thing, she would hear the scuffling of feet, the raising of voices, and the subsequent slamming of the front door, starting of an engine, and muffled weeping. At moments like this she longed solely and only to be able to rise to her feet and lick the face of her weeping parent. Or, to simply wag her tail and stand on all four of her feet looking cute. Anything!, o but anything at all to change the subject for her anguished parent. Alas, she was ineffectual. A terribly pathetic incurable convalescent. These happenings were the worst part of the mishap, the hardest element of the calamity. Not to mention, that due to the pecuniary quandary, her hospital bills were a complete nuisance to the whole family!

The young boy was unable to attain new cleats for his ball kicking game, the daughter- the eldest of the offspring- was no longer able to buy expensive and pretty items of clothing. The mother more and more often reheated leftovers listlessly and the usual family outings, which previously took place every weekend, occurred less and less regularly. Until finally, nobody left the house at all in each others company. The young boy walked to school all by himself, came home all by himself, plopped down on the couch and played video games until dinner time in which he ate the prerequisite requirements of nourishment then retired to his bedroom to watch more TV. The young woman went to school- she went yet she never really attended. Her mind was constantly wandering. Worried about her family, worried about her parents, worried about a seemingly impending divorce or separation. And, also dealing with her own issues. The young man she was dating at the time- who came over once or twice but was never ever liked by the dog, in fact he was maliciously growled at. And the dog would have bit him if he wasn't concerned about how this would adversely affect the girls relationship…Anyway, the young man and her were dealing with the first taste of adulthood. Their first whiff of the woes of romance. Consequentially her grades suffered, she drank at increasingly larger quantities and often was not to be seen or smelled around the house for days on end. The parents were fighting at escalating increments. And, all of this. All of this was her fault. So she thought. And worst of all there was nothing but nothing she could do about it. She was absolutely helpless.

This situation continued then worsened. Therefore, she had resigned herself to living in this perfect purgatory. It had been six months since the accident. She spent all her waking hours in silence and went unacknowledged by her once loving parents and siblings. As time went by- as it always has a way of doing; time ceases ticking for nobody, this world stops spinning for nothing- she began to give up all hope. It wasn't so much her current state of health and unwell being that got to her. It was more the knowledge that things had been so much better. This harsh contrast in realities was impossible for her to swallow. There was a constant lump in her throat threatening to explode and give way to sorrowful and morose tears of longing. Additionally, her leg constantly ached. She had more or less resigned herself to the infrequent pets, the lack of respect. She could only hope- every single time somebody left the house- that they'd take her with them if only for a few seconds to sniff the air outside, to see something other than the backyard where the tragedy occurred to begin with. She had more or less resigned herself to this.

Many days she felt invisible. Like a shadow of something better giving off only a silhouette of appearance. Like a ghost, like an apparition. Also, she noticed that her fur had begun shagging more frequently and her breath- no matter what she did to control it- had started stinking. Sullenly, she spent her hours dreaming of better days and crying silently.

Finally, after she could take it no more, after the place that used to be her home felt only like a big, empty, cold house, she decided to end her life. She decided to stop being a burden on her family.

Now, she was never a genius. In fact nobody in her species really is. But, she was in possession of a special intellect. And she used this unique intelligence to her advantage, to the best of her abilities. She waited until it was rainy. It was a nasty, wintry rain that came down in streams. Accumulating puddles in the street, flooding the arroyos and causing desert creatures to come out of hiding finally. She had heard- way back in her adolescence- of another dog, a Dachshund to be exact, eating a certain kind of toad and dying. Apparently it had been a beautiful death for the dog, because the toad, a Colorado River toad known to reside in these parts, possessed hallucinogenic properties. Only catch was these trippy toadies only came out of hiding on rainy days such as these.

So, the dog had waited patiently. She spent extra time that day, when the children were away, smelling their clothes and laying in their beds. She waited to be let outside by her mother who, before doing so, warned her not to get "all wet and muddy," then carried out her plan. She limped out of the house into the backyard solemnly. She was surprised at how easy it was to locate a toad and relieved and pleased that she was able, even in her weakened sate, to obtain one. It tasted awful and made such a strange sound while she was swallowing its tiny, slimy body. She felt badly for having to take a hostage on her journey, but there was no other way. Of course, she sincerely and willingly made sure to apologize to the little thing before consuming its life, prior to committing first degree homicide. And, in doing so, she at least partially absolved her conscience.

The last thing she remembers is laying on the wet grass, drenched in rain water, watching the most marvelous and spectacular colors fly by her face. In the peak of her hallucinogenic journey, just seconds before her permanent cessation, she swears she felt healthy and as free as could be- she swears she felt once again like a puppy.