by Marna Martin

Created on: March 25, 2008

The car never even slowed down.

With a muted thump, the tiny scrap of fur and bone flew through the air to land at Grace's stiletto-clad feet. She stopped herself just before stepping on it, the froth from her end-of-work latte slopping out of the tiny sip-opening on the coffee lid and onto the silk-wool blend of her skirt. "Crap," she muttered to herself as she knelt down, setting the coffee on the sidewalk. The suit was dry-clean only. As much as Dennis liked seeing her in expensive clothes, you'd think just once he'd offer to pay for cleaning the damn things.

The dog at her feet had much more serious worries than dry-cleaning. The car bumper had hit him squarely, and he'd hit the sidewalk hard. He was lying on his side, gasping for air with one large brown eye rolled up to watch her. His fur was a stunning shade of coppery red-gold that would cost a small fortune to imitate at a salon. Moving slowly, she reached out to move the dog's floppy ear, checking for a collar. The dog started to growl but the sound trickled into a pained whine. "Poor thing," Grace said, smoothing some stray fur back from the dog's eye. His fur was soft, curling gently around her finger. No collar, but the wear pattern of shorter fur around his neck showed he'd worn one recently. He was small, one of the yippy-dogs that rich women liked to keep in their oversized purses as baby replacements.

He twitched and coughed, bloody froth painting the cement in front of his muzzle. The pained light in his eye died out.

"Ugh, how disgusting!" a passing businesswoman said to her companion as they hurried by. His briefcase hit the top of Grace's latte, knocking it over. The white plastic lid popped off the paper cup and rolled out into the street, quickly crushed under the wheel of another car.
Grace stood, looking at the body of the dog at her feet. It wasn't her problem. The sidewalk was crowded with people who managed to part around the body of the dog while completely ignoring it. She could join them, going on about her evening without a second thought for an abandoned, dead dog. She should do just that, head home to change before meeting Dennis for drinks at the latest hotel. Someone would eventually kick the dog's body back into traffic. Within hours it would be nothing more than a smear on the asphalt.

Someone had loved him once.

She hitched her purse behind her hip as she bent to pick up the dog's body. He fit easily in her small hands. She was surprised at how quickly the body was cooling.

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