Worry Worry Worry

Last week the dog got out. He has the habit of heading to the nearest busy street to run back and fourth across the path of speeding cars. It's not bravery, he's dumb and lucky.

Prior to that, two cyclists were killed in the most cartoonish kind of horror; one was run over by a fully loaded cement mixer, the other by a garbage truck.

I spent hours driving dark rainy streets, seeing animal shapes, raccoons, but not the dog. I went to bed worried.

I woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare where the dog is gone forever, and all I see on the roads are dead cyclists run over by heavy equipment.

What the hell?