When I was a kid we had a sassy little dog named Prissy. She was a Chihuahua, and very petite even for this small breed. We had her since a pup, and for several years. Our family had no choice, but to pack up and move to the country. She truly enjoyed the freedom and being able to roam. She always traveled with our male dog that was a lot larger than she was. We always knew he would protect her if he could. One evening my dad was standing outside, and he was rounding up the dogs for a meal. She was running full speed and a bird or owl snatched her up. My dad was pretty far away and he had no time to help her. We never saw her again. I remember for months after that we would walk around the pasture where she was taken crying. We begged and pleaded for a miracle. We weren't ever granted a miracle, but we were given that horrible hard accident. I don't think we will truly ever recover, and most importantly we will always remember Prissy. If you have small dogs please be careful. Especially out in the country. I know it seems so unlikely, and trust me if we ever thought this could happen we would have prevented it.
When my first dog, Sam, died, it was tragic for me, too. Sam and I were actually born on the exact same day! A friend of my father's bred black labs and this particular litter, all of their group of friends basically got a dog at first, except for my dad. Well, needless to say, my father has always been the type to "keep up with the Jones'" so when he found out every one of his friends got one, he had to have one, too. At the time, there was only one pup left--the runt-- and he became "our Sam." Sam and me were thick as thieves. I grew up on 36 acres in the country so we could pretty much roam around the fields as we pleased, frolicking and having fun. This dog put up with a lot of not-so-intentional torture from me as a little girl. I used to put baby bonnets on him, make him play in the sandbox with me, and we often were found carousing in mud puddles together. Unfortunately, when I was about nine, my grandfather who lived next door accidentally ran Sam over with his extremely large pick up truck. I was sad, but my grandfather was so devastated that he didn't even want to tell me. I wasn't upset at him because I knew it was an accident, but I won't lie. It definitely felt as though I had lost my best friend.
Oh, and as a side note, I mentioned that Sam was actually the runt of the litter. In fact, he was quite a bit smaller than any of his brothers or sisters. However, once he became an adult, he was a giant. We often got to see his sibling dogs because they were all owned by my father's friends and Sam ended up being more than twice as big as most of them and strong as an ox.
Gee, that is an amazing tragedy - a small dog grabbed by a flying creature. It's probably a hawk because from what I know, hawks here are snatchers of chicks and even young chickens. The claw of the hawk are strong that they can grab an object heavier than them.
Losing a dog is a terrible thing especially when you lose via a freak incident like that. I commiserate with you because if I were in your place, maybe I would also be there in that spot wishing a miracle. And naturally I would be crying my heart out.
Losing a dog that way can be a traumatic experience that will persist for years or even a lifetime. There would also be a tinge of guilt for not what we perceive is a loss that could have been avoided. But hey, she was happy to roam free, and she must have enjoyed farm life so much she wouldn't have it any other way. I'd like to think that she was taken away and was able to escape from the hands of the hawk or whatever bird was that. She could be somewhere safe being taken cared of by another family, that cute little Prissy.