Pinto {Part 4}

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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I’ve been dreading this final part because it makes me really sad. Still to this day.

I’m probably going to cry while writing this. ):

So it was a warm, summer day. June 21 to be exact.

I was at my moms, where I lived.

Kade was over and we had just got back from somewhere, don’t remember where, but we just sat in the truck talking.

Pinto was with us.

We opened the doors because it was hot.

Pinto would go from the truck to the driveway, to the truck to the driveway, to the truck to the driveway.

My mom’s driveway is a little weird.

She’s got a normal driveway in front of the garage and then in front of the yard, where it usually connects with the road or sideway, there is more pavement before the road. Probably about 10 feet. It’s big enough to park all the extra cars there.

Anyway, Pinto had just gotten out and he was laying right where the driveway met the road.

He was just chillin’ there, soakin’ up the sun.

Kade and I were still talking.

Laughing at Pinto because he couldn’t make up his mind.

I happened to glance up and saw a truck coming toward us.

I didn’t really think much about it.

Cars and trucks go by all day long.

But as he got closer… And closer… And closer

I could see what was coming…

{Wow, this is really hard to write! I’m already bawling like a little two-year-old.}

I jumped out of the truck as fast as I could,

But I was too late..

My dog, my best friend, my protector, my guardian, my laughter, my life,

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Was dead.

I was laying in the middle of the road,

Next to my dead dog,

SCREAMING for him to come back.

“NO! BEAN! COME BACK! PLEASE DON’T DIE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I was just wailing around and screaming.

Every single neighbor came out to see what the heck was going on.

It. Was. AWFUL.

To say the least.

The guy finally stopped about two houses down.

Apparently he said sorry, but I have absolutely no recollection of that.

My mom came over and scooped up my lifeless dog.

She wrapped him in a towel and put him in the back of Kade’s truck so we could go bury him.

She told me I couldn’t look at him, but I insisted on holding him until we got to the spot.

I called my dad and asked if he could come help me dig a hole for my Bean.

He said yes, and we met at my grandma’s, out where we had buried our other dogs that have passed.

I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore.

I was weak. Exhausted. Distraught.

It was, honestly, the worst day of my life.

I’ve never had a day as bad as that.

That was my first “real” death.

We’ve had other dogs that died, but none I was that close to.

I haven’t had any family members or friends that I was close to pass on, so that’s what I mean when I say my first.

{Please, God, do NOT take one of my family members or friends because I said that. Where’s the wood? I need to knock on it.}

I’m gonna end it hear because I’m sick of thinking about it.

To this day, I still miss him.

When we move to a place that will allow me to have a dog, that will be my first purchase.

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Have you had a pet that got ran over? How did you handle it?

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