I’m going to tell you a tale that, to my awareness of it, has baffled me on numerous occasions. What has baffled me was not so much the miraculous qualities of the event, but rather my nonchalant acceptance of it as factual. This story is history. What is history? A memory (in this instant) of a past that no longer exists and cannot be proven to have ever existed. As such, I think, I’m writing this story in hopes that you may view life as a current awareness, not trapped in a linear progression of perceived time. Enough said, now let’s get to the story.
Squirt, a brown and white mutt, came into my life as a lost puppy in the summer of 1962. He became, as most dogs do, a true friend. The event happened as I recall it in late 1966. A group of others (whose names the fog of time has robbed from me?) and I had just crossed Monroe St., at the back gate of Carrollton Lumber and Wrecking Co. A car suddenly sped up and apparently purposely hit Squirt, who was following close behind me. He yelped and I spun around to assist him. Lying on the street as I approached, he uncharacteristically snapped at me once. Knowing he was going to die before me, as I had watched a friend’s dog die previously, I knelt beside him expecting the worst. Suddenly he stood up and I said, “Let’s go home.”
We walked quite quickly the two blocks back to the house. At home I examined him for injuries. His abdomen had an obvious black tire mark between his legs and rib cage. He seemed to be perfectly uninjured. Later, he did have a lump swell up on his abdominal area. As I recall, it recurred, every six or nine months for some time. Receiving no medical care he lived a perfectly healthy life, other than the heart worms that would finally claim him.
After the event, I figured he was saved by the momentum of the car going over him (like a stone skipping over a pond). This seems quite unlikely to me today. Did I create the event from my fears? I watched on numerous occasions, as Squirt (a notorious car chaser in his younger days) ran after car tires, even watching him get under a car as it passed over him. Did the event actually occur? It is as real to me as anything I think is real. Reality is just what an individual or the collective think is real. As we only hold one thought at a time, reality may be just what we make it to be at this instant. Think about it!
Note: A couple of days after a heart attack Squirt died in his sleep on November 7, 1971.