There's a dead dog on the side of the road I ride my bike on to get to work, over by the Cedar City Airport. It's on its side, lying down amidst dusty brown grass and dirty rocks. I'm not a dog breed expert, but I think it's a pitbull, with its light tan coat and “boopable” nose. If you didn't know what was going on (or hadn't seen it multiple times), you'd think it was asleep.
A bit further up from that is the decaying remains of a house cat. It's a tabby, lying unceremoniously on the shoulder of the road, spread across the rocks like some kind of fleshy pancake. Unlike the dog, I'm pretty certain this one was hit by a car. Sometimes when I ride my bike past, I can still smell the rot. Once or twice I’ve had to swerve my bike around it to avoid getting blood on my tires, the rocks roaring in protest as I disturb their ancient slumber.
And yet a bit further up from that, there's a discarded blanket, a broken beer bottle, a twisted piece of metal that I assume is vehicular in origin. The list goes on and on, spread out across the side of the road as if the garbage truck got a hole in its undercarriage. It's the most trash I've seen since I got back from my mission in Germany. The difference between the two is that in Germany the trash had purpose.
If you wanted to throw out your old chair, a busted bed frame, or even something as insignificant as a couple toys your kids outgrew, you'd put it on the sidewalk and call the city to come pick it up. We would walk around the city and see these various piles of furniture, people picking through them to see if there was anything worth using or even repairing. Once, late at night, my companion and I were heading home when something caught my eye.
It was a gray plastic rectangle about the size of an iPad, some parts of the surface slightly sticky from the garbage they'd contacted. I picked it up, turned it over in my hands, and realized I was holding a European PlayStation 1 - a video game console that launched a legend, that led to some of my favorite games being created, that inspired generations of developers to keep creating.
I still have that European PlayStation 1 - I carted it all over Germany, kept it in my luggage, knowing that I couldn't actually use it. But that feeling of finding a piece of history, something I’d only ever read about online up to that point, it hit me in the soul and traveled up my vertebrae, through the nerves to the brain, where it lodged itself in my memories.
It sits on a shelf above my desk as I write this, still slightly sticky, now relegated to the infinite list of “to-dos.” Someday, when I have enough cash, I plan on buying a proper CRT TV, the kind of TV that European PlayStation 1 was built to work on, and actually try and fix it. Maybe take it around, show it to people, play some Castlevania: Symphony of the Night or Ape Escape. At the very least, maybe I could sell it on eBay for someone else to get parts out of for their own projects.
I don't know why it got thrown out. Nor do I know why someone would choose to run over a cat or to leave their pitbull on the side of the road to gather dust, either dying or already dead. After all, these things once had value to someone. Some of them still do. But unlike my European PlayStation 1, nobody will be “fixing” those animals or taking them around Cedar City. There will be no playtime, no joy. Not anymore, at least.
A bit further up from that is the decaying remains of a house cat. It's a tabby, lying unceremoniously on the shoulder of the road, spread across the rocks like some kind of fleshy pancake. Unlike the dog, I'm pretty certain this one was hit by a car. Sometimes when I ride my bike past, I can still smell the rot. Once or twice I’ve had to swerve my bike around it to avoid getting blood on my tires, the rocks roaring in protest as I disturb their ancient slumber.
And yet a bit further up from that, there's a discarded blanket, a broken beer bottle, a twisted piece of metal that I assume is vehicular in origin. The list goes on and on, spread out across the side of the road as if the garbage truck got a hole in its undercarriage. It's the most trash I've seen since I got back from my mission in Germany. The difference between the two is that in Germany the trash had purpose.
If you wanted to throw out your old chair, a busted bed frame, or even something as insignificant as a couple toys your kids outgrew, you'd put it on the sidewalk and call the city to come pick it up. We would walk around the city and see these various piles of furniture, people picking through them to see if there was anything worth using or even repairing. Once, late at night, my companion and I were heading home when something caught my eye.
It was a gray plastic rectangle about the size of an iPad, some parts of the surface slightly sticky from the garbage they'd contacted. I picked it up, turned it over in my hands, and realized I was holding a European PlayStation 1 - a video game console that launched a legend, that led to some of my favorite games being created, that inspired generations of developers to keep creating.
I still have that European PlayStation 1 - I carted it all over Germany, kept it in my luggage, knowing that I couldn't actually use it. But that feeling of finding a piece of history, something I’d only ever read about online up to that point, it hit me in the soul and traveled up my vertebrae, through the nerves to the brain, where it lodged itself in my memories.
It sits on a shelf above my desk as I write this, still slightly sticky, now relegated to the infinite list of “to-dos.” Someday, when I have enough cash, I plan on buying a proper CRT TV, the kind of TV that European PlayStation 1 was built to work on, and actually try and fix it. Maybe take it around, show it to people, play some Castlevania: Symphony of the Night or Ape Escape. At the very least, maybe I could sell it on eBay for someone else to get parts out of for their own projects.
I don't know why it got thrown out. Nor do I know why someone would choose to run over a cat or to leave their pitbull on the side of the road to gather dust, either dying or already dead. After all, these things once had value to someone. Some of them still do. But unlike my European PlayStation 1, nobody will be “fixing” those animals or taking them around Cedar City. There will be no playtime, no joy. Not anymore, at least.