I stared at it, watching it, willing it. At the same time, I hoped it was dead.
A pile of fur and bones against the kerb. Asphalt absorbed blood.
Minutes passed. Definitely dead.
‘Bloody hell,’ I muttered, stooped down and scooped it up. Blood stains suede.
I didn’t hit it hard. You can’t kill a dog with a push-bike, can you? Rhetorical, I know.
I laid the lifeless body on the doorstep, cleared my throat and rang the bell. My legs started running. How could I tell my neighbour I had killed his dog?