Freddy, someone I could've loved

It’s six AM. It’s still dark out, but gradually getting lighter. I sit on my porch, smoking what I tell myself will be my last cigarette before I crawl into bed for a few restless hours. I watch a stray dog prance along the other side of the of the road, as happily as if it was the fabled “farm with plenty of room to run and play” that parents tell small children their beloved pets have gone to when they die. The dog, who I’ve decided should be called Freddy, stops to sniff something, possibly a discarded cheeseburger wrapper or someone’s old gym shoe. Whatever it is, his bushy tail wags merrily, and he seems pleased with his discovery. I smile at the simplicity of his joy, feeling envious of the carefree nature of this nomadic, little creature. Freddy bats at the object with his paw a few times before losing interest and moving on to find some new street treasure to admire.
          I sit there watching him for what seems like hours, and already I’ve smoked three more cigarettes. Each small triumph of catching a bug or barking at passing cars feels strangely like one of my own. Eventually he turns to walk away. Unexplainable loneliness sets in as his figure gets smaller and smaller. I call out to him. I want to scratch behind his big ears. I want to give him what’s left over from tonight’s dinner. He turns to look at me, tongue flopping out of the right side of his mouth, tail wagging furiously. “Come on boy! Come on Freddy! It’s ok! I won’t hurt you!,” I say. He starts to trot towards me, grinning one of those dog grins that makes him seem almost human.
            Out of the corner of my eye, I see light. I realize what’s going to happen a fraction of a second before the Jeep’s brakes begin to screech as the driver tries, in vain, to spare Freddy’s life. The sound fills my ears, followed shortly by a loud thud. The Jeep drives off. The driver probably hurrying to make it to work. Tears already pouring down my cheeks, I run to Freddy, thinking maybe I can save him. I can rush him to the vet. I can make all of this ok!
          As I get closer, I see a puddle of blood spreading slowly under his small body. I hear the wheezing, gurgling sound of his labored breathing. I drop to my knees and cradle him in my lap. “I’m so sorry Freddy. Oh god, I’m so sorry!” I say over and over, stroking his head, now sticky & matted with blood. His tail thumps weakly on the ground a few times, and I begin to sob even harder. I stay like this, sitting in the middle of the street, crying, and holding Freddy until the light fades out of his warm, brown eyes.
          I pick up his little, limp body and carry it to a clearing in the nearby woods. I lay it town tenderly, like a mother would a child at nap time. It’s seventy-thirty AM. I have to be at work in a few hours. Covered in Freddy’s blood, I get in my car to go buy a shovel, knowing I couldn’t sleep now, even if I wanted to.