Mike just called me and asked if I could bring the air pump up to him, as he let too much air out of his tires. He then said, ‘Gumbo (our dog) is not coming home.’ He was hit by a car. This seriously makes me sad. He was the best dog. We got him on Zachary’s birthday. He was a brindle colored chow mix, with the very back of his tongue being black.
We were sitting outside earlier eating chips and salsa, Mike was playing with his bike (the air on the tires of course), and he had asked where Gumbo was. I figured he was down at the lake, which is where he normally is. He never leaves our street. He always came in or out like we asked him to. Not a very good guard dog though. A few weeks ago, around 9pm or 10pm, just me and the boys were home, and the doorbell rings. I open the door to find our dog sitting on the front step with a man (who ended up being a friend of Mike’s that we know, and our potential new Realtor). Silly dog.
He’s laying on the side of the road, stiff already. It makes me mad that someone hit him, and kept on going. Never stopping to see if he could be helped. Ahh heck, he had a dog spa day scheduled for tomorrow, anal gland squeezing included.
I guess with the older two boys, I’ll have to be straight with them. I think they’ll understand what happened. I seriously have never cried over a pet before. Damn it!