By Davida Andelman
Exclusive to the Reporter

(Editor's Note: At about 3 p.m. on Sunday (March 26), Boston Police officers from Area C-11 responded for a call to shots fired on Coleman Street in Dorchester. An unidentified suspect fired approximately 10 shots at a car traveling on Quincy Street towards Bowdoin Street. One bullet went through the driver's side door and another through a rear window of the vehicle. Bullets also struck the windows of a vehicle parked at 487 Quincy Street.

According to witnesses, the suspect fled down Coleman Street toward Hendry Street. Davida Andelman was walking her dog Sunday when the incident occurred, and submitted the eye-witness account to the Reporter on Monday.)

As I sit at my desk this morning, I'm amazed I'm here to write this. Yesterday afternoon around 3:00 I was shot at. Yes, I was either shot at or the shooter shot at a passing car on Quincy Street or at the house I was walking by on Quincy Street in Dorchester. No matter the reason and whether or not I was the target, the young man who stood on the opposite corner diagonally from where I was took a hand gun out and aimed in my direction shooting four or five shots. I saw the flash each time he pulled the trigger. I saw him smirk or laugh and then run down Coleman towards Hendry Street. I immediately got out my cell phone and called the police who kept me on the line to give information and whether or not anyone had been hurt.

When I looked up Quincy towards Bowdoin, the red car which had passed me had stopped in the middle of the street and the driver side door was open. The driver, thank goodness, had not been shot but his window did have a bullet hole. He was dismayed why he had been shot at since he was not even from around the neighborhood. Since the scene was quite chaotic, I took my dog and continued on our walk up to Meetinghouse Hill by the fire station and then on to Ronan Park. I kept thinking, today had to be my lucky day. Lucky, not in the sense most people might think of, but lucky in that I was not injured or dead. Neither was my thirteen year old shepherd/huskie, Malachite.

On my way home about thirty &endash; forty minutes later, I felt compelled to stop by to see if the police had any information. Since the police only had my cell phone number, I wanted to make sure they had my home and work number. I saw the officer who was first on the scene. He asked me some additional questions like where I was standing and the description of the shooter. As it turns out, the house behind where I had been walking had at least one bullet in it as well as the car parked in the driveway. The car driving by received a bullet. How did I or my dog miss being hit? Indeed, it must have been my lucky day. What do you think?