Of all the odd things, I took a self-portrait.
I found the pieces of his butchered body but couldn’t bring myself to collect or even remove them from the road.
I sobbed so hard for about 2.5 hrs.
At that point, I assumed that he had been hit and hit and hit by passing vehicles.
It was Spike who discovered the truth: he had been shot, mangled and dumped on the road to disguise the deed.
He was the 4th dog within 1.5 miles this happened to in a 2 month period.
I had to speak with the Countyseat, Police, Animal Welfare and others.
They kept apologising for very detailed and specific questions. I told them I didn’t have the energy to be affected in the moment, go ahead.
The perpetrator wasn’t found but we have 2 neighbours who like to say with pride that they’re dog killers.
Naught so queer as folk.
I took the photo to remember how very tired I was, just numb with fatigue and I suppose still shock.
I recall thinking that I could do this because people whose human babies were killed had to answer the same gruesome questions.
It was a learning experience.
Losing my mammy and my best friend (from age 3 at age 17) nearly killed me. Losing Bobby, who was special needs was a different kind of thing. I spent 6 years doing everything I could to make him comfortable and happy. I couldn’t help him in the end and that was what bothered me most. I failed him.
I know…don’t get me wrong–the fuckhead who did it was at fault. But I’m saying the internalisation was, I failed him in the worst way.