Bakersfield.com

The dog lay prone in the road directly in front of my house. She was very still, although a gentle breeze ruffled her fur and mimicked movement. In the light of the nearly full moon, I easily recognized the unfortunate dog as Tasha, the Welsh corgi who belongs to one of our favorite neighbors, a very sweet elderly lady named Marlene who lives in the house across the street from us. She lives there alone, except for Tasha, who always accompanies her mistress outside while Marlene works on her front garden. As I stared at the poor little dog in the road, I willed her to get up, hoping in futility that she was only sleeping. It was nearly three AM, and Tasha is never outside at that time; she passes her nights curled at the foot of Marlene's bed. I was utterly heartsick. Tasha is an adorable little thing, very friendly and affectionate.  She's always had a talent for escaping her back yard by digging under the gate, and often runs across the street to visit us on weekend mornings.

The longer I stared at the apparently lifeless dog in front of our house, the worse I felt. How would I tell Marlene that some idiot had callously run over Tasha in the road and left her to die? And what despicable person would do such a thing? Surely anyone in our friendly, caring neighborhood would have stopped, had they hit a dog in the street. But maybe, I thought, the driver had not seen Tasha, had not realized that it was a dog that they had hit.

It was at that thought that I started getting angry.

I am an ophthalmic medical technician by profession. I have worked for eye doctors my entire adult life; for vanity's sake I will not elaborate on just how many years that could be. Suffice it to say that I know my job very well, and have counseled countless patients and their families regarding their eye health and vision. I also have no qualms about telling someone when they are not using their brain regarding their eyes. Never a day goes by when I don't see a patient who has been without glasses for an extended time, but who can barely find the bathroom in broad daylight without them. The infuriating thing about these people is that they still insist upon their ability to drive safely without glasses. Unfortunately, it is quite often some mishap in a motor vehicle that brings them stumbling into my office. Usually, they find it amusing that they are going through life with blinders on, but it really chaps my hide; I am definitely NOT amused.

As I watched the dog in the street for signs of life, only seconds passed, but the mind can race to a conclusion in much less time than that. With the sudden clarity of mind that only comes from stress and a sleepless night,  I just knew what had happened to Tasha. She had to have been hit by one of those jerks who should have been wearing their glasses! All I could think of was the patient I had seen only the day before. Without vision correction, she was only able to count fingers at ten feet. She had not worn her glasses for over a year because she "didn't like them", and all that time she continued to drive. It was only when she nearly ran over her own son in the driveway that she conceded the point and came in for an exam and new glasses.

I couldn't let Marlene come out and find poor Tasha, and I couldn't even think of leaving that sweet dog lying in the road. I ran to my room and hastily began throwing clothes on. My husband, who is a very light sleeper, woke up and asked me what was wrong. Tearfully, I told him that Tasha had been killed and was lying in the street out front. Ever the one to look out for me, he jumped out of bed and grabbed his robe. "I'll take care of her; you stay inside," he said gently. His shoulders slumped as he made his way to the door; he likes Tasha and Marlene as much as I do. I watched him as he went out the front door and knelt beside the dog. He reached out a hand and touched her fur, and then shaking his head, he stood and came back up the front walk. When he came into the house, he glared at me in silent annoyance. Without a word, he walked back to the bedroom.

"Well, what are you going to do? Just leave her there?" I asked as he removed his robe and began to climb back into bed. I was incredulous at his sudden apathy. But when I started to go outside, he called me back. What he said next made me feel like the star of one of those 'real men of genius' commercials. 

 "Next time you see a dog in the road in the middle of the night," he said, "put on your glasses and make sure it isn't just a pile of dead leaves before you wake me up."

So much for taking my own medical advice. As I write, I am wearing my glasses. I wouldn't want to accidentally type a profanity and miss it.