by William Bebb
He'd been twelve years old, standing at the bus stop waiting to go to school with his best friend. Tim had been followed by his new puppy named Black Jack. They'd been speculating about whether Sheila Cleveland was stuffing her bra or not when the bus started down the hill toward their pick up point. The puppy was yipping excitedly and bounding about with seemingly endless enthusiasm.
The school bus was slowing to stop at the corner when Tim screamed, “No! No, Black Jack, stop!”
But it was much too late.
The puppy ran out in front of the bus and the yellow painted juggernaut ran it over.
Had it killed the poor animal outright Josey would no doubt have less disturbed memories about the accident, but it didn't. The weight and size of the mammoth tire crushed the puppy flat across its midsection.
Black Jack howled in confused terror as blood and excrement was squished and squirted out of its body onto the pavement. The dog's midsection was flattened and deep tire tread marks were clearly visible in spite of the torn bloody fur.
It hadn't even been his dog and yet Josey couldn't help throwing up as his friend Tim ran home screaming.
The driver had obviously not been hired for her love of animals.
She only shrugged while opening bus door and said, “Shit happens. Let's get going.”
