Gene got a call this morning that someone had hit a dog right by our driveway. Actually it wasn't, but we did find the little tyke. Cute as bug, white and tan and dead. A little poodle mix and judging by his teeth, under 5. When I found him he was still warm and darn if I didn't think I felt the last flutter go out of him when I lifted him gently from the middle of the road. No collar, no name but someone had taken the effort to have him neutered. I wish I knew his name. Calls have been made to neighbors we know in that area, messages left. I may get the tale at some later date. It really doesn't matter one way or another now.
I'll be lighting a candle for this wee one, sending him on his way to some place safer.
I'll recall him as Buttons, because I know when there was light behind those eyes they would have sparkled with mischief, alert and bright.