A Sad Little Story

My family has always had dogs. Most were mixed breed dogs that slept under the porch and survived on table scraps and small furry creatures that wandered too close to our yard.

My grandmother lived up north and when they moved back home to Alabama she brought her tiny Chihuahua.  When that dog had puppies, she gave my older sister Mary Lois the pick of the litter.  

My sister named her little pup Bosie.  Little Bosie ruled the roost at our house. My mother has never been fond of dogs in the house, but she made an exception for Bosie. 

Full grown, Bosie was about the size of a well-fed gopher. We all grew to love that little dog but it was like a child to Mary Lois.

One evening in the summer of 65, we were out playing and Mary Lois came out to sit in the evening shade of the giant Mimosa trees in our front yard.  Bosie had ambled across the rural road to take care of some pressing business on the other side. When he saw my sister come out he made a B-line back across.  The next few seconds played like slow motion to us all.  

A lady who had been visiting our next door neighbor had just pulled out in her old 1955 Bel Air Chevy.  When she saw us kids waving frantically and screaming for Bosie to stay, she thought we were waving at her.  She never saw the tiny dog. One of my friends was the first to get to Bosie, but it was too late. I'm fairly certain, she never felt at thing.  

I was saddened beyond words that Bosie had been hit, but I can't begin to describe the pain my sister felt.  It took us all a long time to get over that little dog.  

I'm not sure what brought that memory to mind but sitting here writing it out put a lump in my throat.  People get very attached to their pets and when they lose one, it can leave a raw place that does not easily heal.