This is in the wrong section, but I don't care.

This is where all the people I'm familiar with hang, and I need to vent.

Two of my three dogs are dead as of last night.

I got a call at work from my crying boyfriend, saying he'd been called at his job by strangers telling him they found a dog who'd been hit by a car who was barely alive, and had gotten his number from her tags. This was our Boxer puppy, Izzy, who was not even a year old. She was about 7 months, lying in the street dying in the middle of the night, my boyfriend and I both unable to get rides from work.

I called my mother and asked her to look for the dogs just to see if this story was even true, and praying that somehow these boys were mistaken or lying.. They were not. She found poor Izzy barely able to breathe in the street alone. Mercedes, our Doberman, was still missing at the time, and our third dog never left the back yard.

My mother immediately rushed to the 24/7 vet's office she works at and admitted Izzy. Meanwhile, Joey calls me again and says the boys found Mercedes as well, lying in a ditch a few houses down from where Izzy was found. Her leg is obviously broken.

I call my grandfather and beg him to take her to the vet asap, since my mom was tied up with Iz. He agrees, and the boys help him put her into the car. My grandfather comforts me, saying Mercedes is very calm and trying to sit up even. I take this as bad news, not good, because I know it is bad if she can't feel her badly broken leg and is probably in shock.

I update Joey, who is hysterical, and I follow suit pretty quickly, crying and working all at once to try and get off work as soon as I could.. at the same time knowing I can do nothing to help no matter how soon I leave work.

Within the next half hour or so, my grandfather got Mercedes to the vet, got my sister and I from our job together, and made the drive right back to to vet's office. Joey got a ride to our home and couldn't make it up to the vet with me, where I knew I'd have to decide my dogs' fates.

My mother had already seen their xrays.. Both had broken spines, a collapsed lung each, and Mercedes' broken leg was shattered to bits. There was nothing to be done.

Neither dog recognized me when I entered their rooms. They were so calm. It was unsettling. Mercedes looked up at me, covered in abrasions, bleeding, her leg twisted and mangled..

I said I was ready, knowing it was for the best but not feeling at all ready, and both were put to sleep.


I feel so depressed. I have no idea how they escaped the yard. I have no idea why Roxie didn't go with them. I have no idea what type of person hits two dogs on the same street and keeps driving. I hate just filling one bowl of kibble at meal time instead of three. I dread walking Roxie. Alone. When I go up and downstairs in my house, there will be no silly Doberman and Boxer pushing and racing me.


Sorry about the stupid long post in the wrong thread. Delete it. I don't care. I need to get this out to someone and you guys are some of the most caring people I have met.