Her name was Daisie.

She wasn't a large dog, just a regular, brown, Jack Russell terrier. I was surprised how easily I could lift her.

It was about 8:30 last night. I'd gone to Community Market to pick up some of those refrigerated biscuits in a can to go with dinner. Driving back home, I'd been blinded by oncoming headlights. By the time I could focus and realize there was a dog standing in my lane, all I could do was slam on the brakes, unable to avoid the sickening thu-thump as my passenger-side tires rolled over her.

I immediately pulled over, heart pounding. I got out and looked to see her standing in the road, lit by approaching traffic, keening softly. I ran into the road, frantically waving my arms, terrified that the next car would slam into her, killing her. Despite my dark clothes, the driver must have seen something because the car stopped and waited for me to gather the wounded animal in my arms and carry her to my own car. She didn't struggle as I got in and placed her on my lap.

I looked up, movement catching my eye. Outside, ice blue eyes met my own, questioning. It was a huge, white dog, obviously part wolf from the lean, angular shape of its muzzle. It sniffed at my bumper, collar and tag glinting against its fur. I suddenly remembered seeing it on my way to the market earlier. I had slowed to let it cross the street in front of me, and it had been followed by a small, brown dog....

I'm sorry, I thought to the wolf. I'll do what I can. And I slowly pulled away and headed to the veterinary hospital.

I had the vet's number with me and called to find out if someone would be there at this hour. I didn't realize I'd been crying until I heard how badly my voice was shaking. The nurse told me to come over and she'd be waiting for me. I was taken aback when she asked if I'd accept financial responsibility for treatment. I had just run over a dog. Of course I'll do what needs to be done to make it better!

It seemed to take an awfully long time to get there. My passenger shifted awkwardly, and her breathing started to become more labored. I stroked her head and tried to murmur reassuringly until we arrived. She smelled strongly of musk and fear, but she didn't make a sound.

We put her on the exam table, and the nurse took her temperature. Even to my inexperienced eyes, there were odd lumps in her abdomen that looked wrong. They took her to the back for x-rays, I left my contact information, and I took my biscuits home.

Shawn held me for a long time, then I burned the biscuits (still getting used to having a Real Oven!) and we had dinner. About 10:30pm, I got a call from the vet to say they'd found a microchip, which is how I know her name was Daisie. Unfortunately, the contact info for the owners was in the form of an address and phone numbers in Arizona which were at least a year out of date. Maybe they'd be in the phone book here; I don't know. The nurse said they had Daisie on oxygen and morphine, and they were seeing how she was doing before deciding whether or not to attempt surgery.

This morning, I found that Daisie had died around 2am.

I don't feel guilty. I did all I could; if nothing else, I made sure that she was in as little pain as possible, and she wasn't alone. But I wish I could explain to the wolf why she won't be coming back.

And I grieve.