On April 14th 2009 my dog Phoenix got loose, ran out onto a busy street and got herself killed. I had her for 11 years. My wife found her when she was a puppy after she ran under her car at a stop sign. I had to coax her out from under and then I took her home. We put an ad in the newspaper (no Craigslist in 1998) but couldn't find her owner so we kept her.

Within 48 hours after bringing her home she got sick with Parvo. I was out of work at the time so after taking her to the vet I kept close watch on her (flushing her IV every two hours to make sure she was receiving her fluids and medicine) until she finally pulled out of it a few days later. We had another puppy who died of the disease just a couple of years earlier so it was scary to get the diagnosis but we were elated when she recovered. That's how a female dog got the name Phoenix... after the mythical Greek bird who rose from the ashes.

Phoenix was a Houdini and could dig holes jump fences and even squeeze through the slats in wrought iron fences. It was all of the above that eventually led to her death. She truly was my best friend. Burying her (I found her body on the side of the road) is still one of my most painful memories.

Flash forward to today. I was out West driving down 60th when I saw a little dog get hit by a lady in a Honda. Immediately I turned into a gusher thinking about Phoenix and how she must have suffered when she was killed and how I wasn't there for her. At first I thought this dog was gravely injured but when I tried to pick it up it got up and started running around with a nasty limp. I tried to get it to come to me so I could take it to the vet but it ran into a neighborhood and disappeared.

I wish my dog had been so lucky.

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