Prissy was a good dog

Tonight I hit a dog. I feel terrible. When I looked up, all I saw was fur and teeth in my bright lights. Then I heard the sickening thud. If you've ever hit a dog, or cat you know that sound. That thud as the poor animal, or what's left of it, bounces off the underside of your car.

By the time I turned around and reached the crime scene, the owner had pulled up and he and his daughter, probably about ten or eleven year old little girl hopped out of the car ahead of me. By the time I got closer, the sickening feeling became full on nausea as I heard her wailing. As I came up beside her, she looked up at me with tears filling her big ole brown eyes and said "Prissy was a good dog." What do you say? "I'm sorry" was all that came out and it seemed awfully lame compared to her sobs.
By the time her mom got there, we were both a mess.

Her mom assured me that she knew it was an accident. She told me that the dog was really bad about chasing their car, and they knew that this would happen sooner or later. Rotten luck it had to be me.

When you're ten, a dog can be your best friend. You can tell her all your secrets and trust her not to tell anyone. You can count on her to love you and lick you to death, even if you stink at kickball. A dog will snuggle with you even after you have a terrible fight with your sister. I know, I had a wondeful dog named Ruff when I was ten. She got hit by a car and died. I cried for three days.

I'm so sorry I hit your dog. It was an accident. I hope you forgive me. I know Prissy was a good dog and I know you'll miss her.