Then there was a greyish-giant-ham-sized blur emanating from a vaguely dark-blue north-bound SUV shaped blur, a fleshy thump, a squealing of brakes, and the appearance of a grey-and-white-pit-bull-type dog in the street.
We'll call him Spike.
Spike had no idea what the hell had just happened.
Unsure of everything, he sort of rocked in place. He reminded me of the reaction of my niece had when the other little girl (3-4 yo, cute little blond) tried, repeatedly and unceasingly, to get the eye-boogers out of her (my niece's) eye. She (once again, my niece) was freaked, but had zero idea how to handle it.
Being the brave, daring guy that i am (while hoping like hell that Spike would not freak out and kill me) i whistled(ish), and said dumb things like "C'mere, puppy. It's OK. C'mon, pup!", possibly whistled(ish) again and clapped my hands on my thighs while trying to keep myself from shaking too visibly. Dogs can sense that shit. They'll fucking eat you.
Spike trotted over and seemed for all the world like an adorable, confused, short-haired (killing machine) as i snatched up his trailing leash. I spouted more dog-friendly platitudes: "Who's a good boy, then?", "Wow, are those your real teeth?", and tried to calm both of us down.
Spike did a better job than me at calming down.
Then shit got real wacky.
I am unclear how things really happened; traffic stayed snarled; some things must have moved, some things must not have. I was petting Spike, hoping he did not tear my throat out (he was a actually a calm and good-looking puppy) while looking out for the dark-blue SUV-shaped blur when i heard the *crunch*.
A blue and white motorcycle (Suzuki?) had run into the back of a stopped VW Beetle (one of the newer ones, you know, the one with flatter curves around the quarter panels and done in the nice red, not the tomato one). Later, it turned out that the Beetle was driven by a short, seemingly disinterested, blonde girl.
The bike had two occupants: the rider, all helmeted and race-bike jacketed, and the passenger, all flip-flopped, t-shirted, beshorted and rolling in the street, flopping to an erratic stop while moaning, yelling.
Being the self-centered guy that i am i thought, "i bet i looked a lot like that hitting the ground when i broke my clavicle. Good thing i can't run as fast as that bike". He was clearly injured, but traffic obscured my view. Nextly; the more-clearly-defined dark blue, south-bound (Chevy) SUV hove into view, windows rolled down, in the turn lane, driver haranguing those *in his way*, feet away from and completely oblivious to passenger-boy's plight.
Chevy made a bad left onto 42nd (east-bound) and yelled at me from the window that he would 'be right back' as he drove past. Meanwhile, i was on the phone with 911, holding onto Spike, who was either excited to see his master, or scared as hell to do the same thing. Not sure. Seems like a good thing to beat myself up over.
Traffic has stopped, passenger is screaming, Chevy is yelling at anydamnthing and approaching; Spike is freaking out, tugging at the leash and 911 has put me on hold.
"Are you with the victim?"
"Bitch pushed the dog out the truck!"
"South or North bound?"
Chevy was shorter than me, muscle-bound and Affliction-tank-topped as he took the leash and took Spike back to the Chevy blur. He said words at me, but i was trying to listen to dispatch.
"OK, an ambulance has been dispatched. Others are on the scene. Please disconnect now."
I do not think i should have given Spike back.
Passenger-boy was silent, Traffic stopped. Oglers ogled and a mother-and-infant was speaking to 911. I urged her to take her child out of the situation after some small talk, peek-a-boo, and checking that she was OK and uninvolved. She seemed mostly interested in death. The kid was cute though.
Everydamnbody showed up: Police, FD, EMS; the whole nine. Situation handled. Spike returned.
I went back to the office, had some cheese and crackers and did the crossword. Well, not really. It was a kinda tough Wednesday.
I hope Spike is OK. He's the only one who had no choice in his situation. Him and the kid, who is most likely fine despite his death-obsessed mom.