Thin Disguise

The scene unfolds before my eyes, just past the crest of a small hill. I realize that I’m soon to be a witness to a tragic kill. A little white Chihuahua dog emerges from the trailer park. She’s following a blue car out; she has yappy little bark. She cannot gain the driver’s ear; the girl is talking on the phone. I want to scream, to shout alarm. The dog needs help, but there is none. I pass the scene, look for a turn, a break to swing the car around. I’m quickly back to where she is, only to watch the white dog bound Along beside the car into the highway and the median; she’s barking still; the girl won’t see. I fling the door and start to run. The girl drives off, now just the dog is standing there, right in the gap. I’m on the ground, I plead with her to get her to come to my lap. She’s terrified and shaking hard, so close and then to dart away. The cars and trucks are whizzing by; I beg, I plead, I even pray. A moving truck then crests the hill just as she darts back to the park. I stand, I try to wave them off. Her chances: bleak; her terror: stark. They see me, brake, the slightest pause, enough to watch her safe across. I get back in my car and leave, just thankful that there was no loss. A few brief moments, all it took to play slow motion ‘fore my eyes. The stuff of which nightmares are made; a horror play in thin disguise.