When his dog Vicky was killed by a hit and run driver, Richard Josef wrote this letter to the newspaper.I hope you were going somewhere important when you drove so fast down the road on Tuesday night. Perhaps we'd feel better if we could imagine that you were a doctor crushing somewhere to deliver a baby or case somebody's pain. The life of our dog to shrten someone's suffering- that mightn't have so bad.
But even though all we saw of you was your car's shadow and its jumping tall lights we know too much about you to believe it.You saw the dog, you stepped o your rakes, you felt a thump, you heard a yelp and then my wife's scream. Your restless are good, we knew because you jumped on the accelerator again and got out fast.
You didn't bother to look, so I'll tell you what the thump and the yelp were. They were Vicky, a six=month old Bessel puppy; white, with brown and black markings. An aristocrat, with 12 champions among her forebears, but she clowned and she chased, and she loved people and children and other dogs as much as any mongrel on the earth.
I am sorry you didn't stick around to see the job you did, though a dog dying the side of the road isn't a pretty sight. In less then two seconds you and that car of yours transformed a trying being that had been so beautiful, clean, soft and loving into something dirty, ugly and broken.
I hope to God that when you hit my dog you had for a moment the sick, dead feeling in the throat and down to the stomach that we have known since. And that you feel it whenever you think about speeding down a winding country road again.Because next time some eight year old boy might be webbing along on his first bicycle. Or a very little one might wander out past the gate and into the road in the moment in takes his father to bend down and pull out a weed, the way my puppy got away from me.Or perhaps you'll really be lucky again, and only kill another dog,and break the heart of another family.
But even though all we saw of you was your car's shadow and its jumping tall lights we know too much about you to believe it.You saw the dog, you stepped o your rakes, you felt a thump, you heard a yelp and then my wife's scream. Your restless are good, we knew because you jumped on the accelerator again and got out fast.
You didn't bother to look, so I'll tell you what the thump and the yelp were. They were Vicky, a six=month old Bessel puppy; white, with brown and black markings. An aristocrat, with 12 champions among her forebears, but she clowned and she chased, and she loved people and children and other dogs as much as any mongrel on the earth.
I am sorry you didn't stick around to see the job you did, though a dog dying the side of the road isn't a pretty sight. In less then two seconds you and that car of yours transformed a trying being that had been so beautiful, clean, soft and loving into something dirty, ugly and broken.
I hope to God that when you hit my dog you had for a moment the sick, dead feeling in the throat and down to the stomach that we have known since. And that you feel it whenever you think about speeding down a winding country road again.Because next time some eight year old boy might be webbing along on his first bicycle. Or a very little one might wander out past the gate and into the road in the moment in takes his father to bend down and pull out a weed, the way my puppy got away from me.Or perhaps you'll really be lucky again, and only kill another dog,and break the heart of another family.




