It’s edifying and yet terrifying how life goes on after a death. The couple walking their dogs this morning doubtless have no idea why their animals are lingering near the Jeep parked at the curb. Do the dogs even know what it is they are smelling on the asphalt just beyond the vehicle’s tires? I watch them from the porch and remember the sound of the garbage truck, the frantic yelping for a few seconds then a young man’s voice saying over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God.”
The truck driver stayed in the cab, watching the scene in his big side mirror. His assistant stood motionless with a trash can in his hands. The young guy from the apartment house next door walked in circles of disbelief, ran back into the house and then back out again. Several people stopped to stare and offer help. My view was blocked by the Jeep and I was glad for it. When the truck driver finally stepped down from the cab, he moved slowly, as though he carried a heavy burden.
Eventually, the garbage truck moved on its growling way. Trash waits for no one. The dog was loaded gingerly into the back of a car; a rug beneath it, someone’s jacket covering it. The young man from the apartment house kept coming out with bowls of water to sluice down the area near the Jeep. Later, a City of Austin truck parked in our small lot. The driver surveyed the accident scene for a few minutes then left, probably off to file his report, many steps removed from the black and white border collie who once chased a wandering guinea hen, making it fly up into the bare branches of a pecan tree.
No comments:
Post a Comment