It shocked my senses from a lovely day to a terrible moment that happened with no rhyme or reason. Only that moment. Had we eaten lunch for 30 seconds longer, or had I waited to relieve myself, the exact meeting of that fellow bicyclist would have saved the puppy. I felt sick.
The rider got off his bike. He walked across the road, picked up the dog and walked up to us.
"I'm so sorry," I said with grief in my voice.
"Nothing you could do. It wasn't anyone's fault," he said.
The driver stopped and ran back, "I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't stop."
"There's nothing you could have done sir," the bicyclist said. "Thanks for stopping."
"I'm sorry son," the driver said as he walked away.
"I'm so sorry," I repeated. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No," he said. "I need to take Sierra for a walk in the woods."
As he carried the pup away toward the trees, I stood there, my heart crushed with pain. He had lost a special friend, one he had run through the high country with, one who had sat by campfires with him.
A half-hour passed before I walked up to where he was burying Sierra. I introduced myself. His name was Bob and he began crying. I walked up and embraced him. His pain moved into me. I wept with tears running down my face onto his shirt, soaking a small circle into it.I held him tight. He talked with his face on my shoulders, sniffling through his nose, convulsing with gasps of air. Minutes later, we picked up rocks and finished covering Sierra's body. Bob and I walked back toward the road. Bob didn't look back, but his whole being was torn. I sensed the anguish ripping at his foundations.
"I don't understand why this happened," he said.
Doug nor I said anything. What could we say? What could we do?
Nothing.
Bob decided to continue south. He wanted to figure out why this happened. I gave him one last hug. Doug did too.Bob walked across the road, picked up his bike and rode off.
"Do you know only one car has ridden by us in the last 45minutes?" Doug said.
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