We’ve published a couple of stories about our whippets on this site. The story about how Owen inadvertently caused Justin to charge, frothing with rage and vile obscenities, at Eric Bana in a public park was probably the most popular, but there have been others.

Well, a few weeks ago Phoebe the Whippet was hit by a car. We opened our front door and she ran on to the road before anyone had time to stop her. The driver that hit her saw her run out, but was going too fast to stop in time.

Her pelvis was fractured in three places and she lost all the skin and most of the muscle off her left back leg. All the skin on her stomach and right up to her tail was red raw from asphalt grazes. The vet said it was almost like third degree burns, which wasn't helped by the fact that she couldn’t stand up to pee so she peed in her bed and on herself.

She’s timid, even for a whippet, so being in a new place, full of strangers who keep doing things to her that hurt her and hearing the sound of other animals in pain was terrifying – and we had no way of telling her why she was there and why we wouldn’t rescue her.

She also fractured her tail, on the x-ray it looked like it had been ripped right off her spine and would have to be amputated, but they couldn’t do that while her pelvis was healing. We just had to try not to let her move it - difficult for a dog needing to take a dump.

We also didn't know how much damage was done to the nerves in her back legs. Paralysis, incontinence, constipation, arthritis, and constant pain were all risks.

She looked like something out of a horror movie, the vet told me that it was the worst injuries he had seen for years.

Justin and I were going to the vet morning and night to feed her (she refused to take food from anyone else) and sit next to her small, furry, broken body, trying to find somewhere we could pat her without hurting her.

I couldn't bring myself to give up on her while the vet said there was still a chance she could recover, but every day I had to wonder if I was being selfish to not just let her go.

As bad as it was, my two children were only a few steps behind Phoebe. It could so easily have been one of them mangled by that car.

It could have been any one of the dozens of children who live in our street.

It could have been the kind lady next door who bought out a blanket to cover Phoebe so the children wouldn’t have to look at her injuries.

It could have been one of the drunken denizens of the flats across the road who seem to stumble in at all times of the day or night. Loud and obnoxious as they are, they’re still loved by someone. Probably.

In the short time Phoebe was at the vet they had to put one dog and one cat down because of car accidents, and another dog was in the hospital with Phoebe, terrified and barely alive.

There is a reason for speed limits in side streets. There’s lots of reasons. They’re chasing balls down a driveway, running out to greet someone on the other side of the road, learning how to ride bikes and falling off skateboards. There’re everywhere and if you’re going too fast you can’t see them until it’s too late.

Slow down on the side streets.

Please.

Oh, and what happened to Phoebe?

Well, despite all expectations, she survived. It’s going to take a very long time for her to recover and she will never be as agile as she once was, but she can walk, pee, climb up on a couch, crap on the footpath and bark at flies. It’s enough for her.

And for me. .

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