As a teacher of History and Psychology, I feel that I have my feet on the ground at most times. The term paranormal normally brings to my mind paranoia and schizophrenia. I do, however, love ghost stories as a matter of folklore.
Ten years ago I had a unique experience happen to me. I have a nephew who is borderline handicapped. My love for target shooting interested him and I would take him with me often.
Near my home of American Fork, Utah, U.S.A. is a canyon and at the mouth of it are some old gravel pits. One in particular is dug down, rather than into, the surrounding plateau at the mouth of the canyon. The local government piled four foot piles of gravel around the rim of the pit to keep people from running off into the pit in their cars. The sides of the gravel pit are 25-30 feet deep and straight up and down. At one end the road follows the outline of the pit to the north then turns to the west following that side of the pit. At the turn there is a pile of gravel some 14-17 feet high keeping people from running off at that point.
On this bright sunny summer day, I took him with me for the pit is full of old car bodies, appliances, and garbage that makes it a target shooter's dream. As I drove down the north side of the pit, I saw sitting under an old, overturned couch a dog. Young, black, and labrador. I lvoe dogs and it was strange to see one this far from any of the surrounding homes. I slowed to show "Lonnie" the dog and he said, "He looks sad." I drove around the west side of the pit and parked the car in the sage brush flat and Lonnie and I walked down into the pit following an old road. We spent about two hours shooting broken bottles and cans. The only wierd part was the dog would sometimes let out a low howl that echoed off the walls in the pit.
I loaded Lonnie into the car and drove back up the west side and turned south past where the dog had been. As I approached him I stopped and tried to call him over to the car. He was sitting some ten feet off the road. Lonnie then said, "What is on his chest?" I looked closer and there was something wrong. I got out, walked around the car and got to about five feet from him and realized he had an infected cut 6-7 inches long. It was bad and I knew I had a very sick dog on my hands. I climbed in the car and drove down about a quarter mile and got out. I told Lonnie I have to relieve myself and I would be right back. I retrieved my Tagert 357 magnum from the trunk, and walked back up the road. I hate to see animals suffer.
I approached the dog, put six rounds into the gun, pulled back the hammer, and placed the sight squarely on his chest where I knew his heart was. I told him I was sorry. Then I pulled the trigger. The dog was only six feet away at most. I had been shooting soup cans and hitting them 9-10 times all morning at 20 yards. I knew I had missed because the dog just sat there looking at me. I pulled back the hammer and fired. Again he sat there looking at me. He suddenly stood up and walked away from me along the piles of gravel meant to keep the cars out of the pit. As he walked away, I fired four more rounds. I began to think that the round nose bullets I fire for targets were just passing through him. So, I reached onto my ammo belt and got out a speed loader. It was loaded with large 158 grain hollow points. I dropped in six hollow point rounds, then trotted to keep up with the dog. I must admit that by this time my ego was getting to me and that dog was now going to die!
I pulled up even to him and fired six measured rounds from 4-8 feet away and he kept walking. He had reached the large pile of gravel at the corner of the pit. I loaded six more rounds. He stopped, looked at me, and started up the slope. I aimed very carefully and fired. I knew that the bullets were going through him. I could see dirt fly up from underneath him but not the bullet impact in the dirt and rocks. He reached the rim and disappeared over the top. I ran around the other side and wsa going to get him when he came off. A gust of wind blew dust in my face as I came around the far side of the gravel hill. He had not come down, so I went up. He was not there.
Standing some 14 feet above the surrounding landscape I had a clear view of every detail of the land. I knew this area well and there was not dog. I looked into the pit figuring he had fallen in but there was no dog. It was late summer and the grass for 400 yards around teh pit was yellow and anything black and moving would stand out clearly. I started doing slow turns inspecting the land as I went. After two or three minutes standing there I started to get a little unnerved. I was rational. He had just gotten away. Then the sun disappeared. I looked toward the west to see a rain squally coming at me and the most straight storm front I have ever seen. I started into a jog off the hill looking as I went. I was really unnerved by the disappearance of the dog and the suddenness of the rain on a day that was all but clear an hour earlier. I got back to the car drenched. Lonnie looked at me and said, "You killed the dog, didn't you?" I explained that the dog was sick and I felt an obligation. He seemed to understand.
I never have.
