On the way back, James swerved to avoid hitting what he thought was a paper bag, but which turned out to be a fairly large dog lying in traffic. I made him pull over, jumped out, and walked back to the dog, who was sitting up and looking around, but just laying in the middle of the street. Great. Looked like a pit-bull cross. Greeeeat. (On the bright side, they're generally built like brick shithouses, so that's something.) Another car stopped in front of him and put on the hazards so that he wouldn't get hit again. I coaxed him out've traffic (mostly saying "C'mon, sweetie," which probably says something right there) and he could walk just fine--jumped up, came closer, then veered off, look suspicious. Parts of his face were skinned, but he didn't have a limp--presumably a graze that knocked him silly more than anything else. I tried to coax him in closer, thinking that maybe I could get him into the car and take him over the vet, but he leapt up suddenly and took off at a dead run into the bushes. There was no way I was gonna catch him--he was going rather faster than an out-of-shape woman is gonna manage, even before he got into the bushes, and I value my skin much too much to risk getting a pit bull mad at me--so all I could do was look at the driver of the second car, shrug, and say "Well, hope he gets back home!"
I hope he got back home.
