So, yesterday on the way to work, I saw a dog. I was merging onto I-95 South, and there, at this tiny point of grass where two merge lanes meet, was this gorgeous black lab. He looked like he wasn't yet full grown, but was immaculately groomed, and had one of those woven collars on with tags. So clearly somebody loved him. He looked frantic, terrified - so I slowed down, because I didn't want to hit him. I kept thinking, "Who do I call? Can you call 911?" I didn't think fast enough to stop the car, put on my hazard lights, and see if he was friendly and if I could get him to a shelter. So, I got off at the next exit and looped back, speeding, hoping the dog would still be there. It took about 15 minutes to make the loop, and when I got back, I didn't see the dog. So at first I was relieved. There were slopes of grass that he had access to; I was thinking maybe he got smart, turned around, and ran off. Then, right at the curve, I saw fresh blood, organs, matted black fur. I immediately assumed that someone had hit the dog, and started sobbing. I felt so guilty, like if only I'd thought more quickly, he'd be safe at a shelter. I was a wreck for most of yesterday about it.

Anyway, I say "assumed" because I know the smeared stuff wasn't there on my first go round. But, I didn't see a full body - and certainly no identifying features, like a head.

Gruesome, I know. But here's why I mention it:

This morning, right before I woke up, I dreamed I was driving around the parking lot of a shopping center, and there he was. The dog. In the dream I was ecstatic. This time I stopped the car, put on my hazard lights, and threw open the front door. He ran right in and sat on his hauches, looking regal. I remembered to put my hand out for him to sniff, and he licked it several times, so I turned off the hazards and headed for the vet hospital where I take Scout.

I don't know if the dream is a manifestation of my guilt/grief (i.e., trying to right what went wrong) OR some kind of signal from the universe, like, "It wasn't him. He's okay. He's going to make it back to his family." The thing is, I couldn't be sure what I saw smeared on the road. If it had really been the dog, wouldn't there have been more of a body? Maybe he DID run down the grassy slope, or maybe someone else rescued him before I could make it back.

The thing is, when I left the house yesterday - this is before I saw the dog - Scout was a wreck. Joe started his new job yesterday and is no longer working out the home, and I'm still teaching winter session. So when I left, Scout was left alone - and he hates being alone. The frantic terror of his bark when I leave rips through my heart. I know he's "just" a dog and that 10 minutes after I go he'll be chewing on a bone and watching THE VIEW (yeah, I leave the TV on for him when we're gone). But he's not "just" a dog - he's my pup. My baby boy. The love I feel for that 11 pound ball of fur is incredible. God help me when I have kids.

On a more positive note: I have the last two FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS saved up, so if I get all of my work done early this evening, I can have a double feature of TV goodness.

Woot!