Goddamn tragedy struck last night.
My housemate was away. With friends in lancaster. And our two dogs were alone at the house. I was at a dinner party. I got home with the usual post dinner party blah. Parked. Came in the house. No dogs. What is going on? I started calling their names, going from room to room. Making a thorough scan of the spaces. Mind registering the absence of - dogs.
It was raining out like crazy. How many days of rain have we had? No one can get it straight. Some say five. Others six. We got 20" of rain just this weekend. And it is tearing shit up. The city can't handle it. All the drains are overflowing. every street corner is immersed. All you hear is fire engines. It's a mess.
Last night I went to trader Joes in the cutlass to get a bottle of wine for this dinner. And I almost crashed the cutlass on Hyperion Blvd. With those bald-ass tires on wet, greasy roads there is just no braking to be had. You have to drive like there are no brakes. I locked it up. A Ford Ranger with Oregon plates had stopped dead in the middle of Hyperion, alongside another car that was double-parked. Fuck, I muttered. Cunt. Shit! The wheeels had broken loose, I was skidding sideways. The car's brakes had two settings. On and off. O My God I'm going to hit that guy. I seemed to be going so fast. I was getting near sideways, and I realized it may only be a tap when I hit him. O shit. And then my car stopped. I hadn't hit him. Stopped short. Wow. That was close. Too fast. Or something. Anyway, driving on with this terrible story.

At 3:30 am I got home and my housemates dog was gone. Dusya. She'd slipped out the back gate. It blew open. No. That's not even true. That's the official dstory. I left that fucker open. I spaced man. The rain. I felt cold. I was talking to my dog sternly. Asking him where she was. And how he could have let her leave. He'd been hiding when I first walked in the house.

All I can hear at this point is rain on the roof. It's coming down, and cold. She's out there. It's not good at all. The streets are busy as hell in this area. Of course I went out and looked for her. Whatever that means. Talk about a needle in a a haystack. I don't even know how long she's been gone. An hour. Five hours. She could be as near as three houses away. Cowering under sporch and trying to stay dry. Or she could be... You name it. She was lost. I felt overwhelmed by despair for the situation.
I set out on foot. Chin down for that damn rain. I plodded around. i called her name. every building I wlaked past had mad gushing downspouts. Cars whished by through the wet on Fountain. The sain was steady like a retarded giant in the process of its one lifelong chore. I was cussing and looking skyward to let the rain just dribble down my face. It seemed so symbolic and pointless. I decided to go back and get the car. I hadn't even considered calling Viola at her friend's place in Lancaster. That would not be good.

You have to underdstand something about Dusya here. She's a hyper little boxer. Her main moods are timid and flirtatious. Somehwhat daft and irritating. I'm often pissed off at her. She's really hard to teach, though I've gotten her to walk pretty well off-leash. Problem is that she was raised in a condo and spoiled on little cocktail wieners. She just doesn't know the streets. And she was getting baptized tonight. Hee hee. I wish I could laugh. People's dogs are serious business. You lose someone's dog, you've lost someone. I felt bad for her. Poor fucking little thing. But I had to sleep. and there was NOTHING to be done at that hour of (5:45am). I was supposed to go look at a location at 11am the next day. The same day. It was all so beautiful.

I spent pretty much the whole day walking and biking in the rain. I wore goretex pants and an amazing waterproof army jacket that I bought in Coney Island for ten bucks. But in that kind of rain it's impossible to stay dry. I had the waters running down my shoulders. Viola was back in L.A. by then. And of course she was completely beside herself. It was unsettling to see how crushed she was by the news about Dusya. And it was still raining. You can't even walk outside for the mud and crap washing down the culverts and spillways. Palm fronds go by at 30 mph, carried by the current.

But then we got the call. A neigbour found Dusya on his stoop. trying to stay dry. O Christ. She's still alive? Unbelievable. I drove Viola over thtere. So that's what it was. The event. The dog had managed to cross Sunset and get over behind the McDonalds. But she wasn't alright. She'd been hit by a car. She looked all dark on her back. I hoped it was water, but wiping my hand over it revealed auto grease. That thick stuff that builds up on underbodies of cars. And then I could see the swelling in her leg. O boy. She got clipped pretty good. We're going to have to see about this. Viola washed her back at thye house. And cleaned her wounds (gross, great big lacerations). And now that the dog is seen to, Viola is simply freaking out. I suppose I would too. But my dog didn't wander off in the rain.

What's worse than a dog getting hit by a car? There's something there about innocenece and vulnerability. How they fare in our environment. It's a shitty place where people just run over dogs in the street. She's sleeping on the couch now. I'm falling alseep on my feet. The rain took it out of me.