Seriously, what was I thinking when I wrote this?

Just found a story I wrote in 2006. If this doesn't encourage me to start writing again then hopefully nothing will.
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On a gray Tuesday morning a Milkman was making his usual rounds. Business had been falling ever since the local Tescos store had opened, and he was busy calculating how much profit he had lost that week.
Suddenly he slammed the brakes of his electric van as a small furry animal shot out across the road. There was a sickening bump as the wheels skidded over the unlucky rodent.
As he brought the van to a halt and began to climb out he prayed it was a rat. Just as he approached the body a small girl ran out of the nearest house, crying and screaming two words at the top of her lungs. 'MY GERBIL!'
She skidded to a stop and stared at the dead animal with tears pouring down her cheeks before turning on the Milkman.
'You killed Harry!' she cried with a violent look in her eye.
'Alright, calm down little girl - I'll buy you a new Gerbil I promise. Don't cry now. Harry's gone to gerbil heaven', he pleaded.
He'd have promised anything to keep her waking the whole neighbourhood, let alone her parents. He could tell right then that this was not going to be good for business.
Just then the girl's father stomped out of the house swinging a hefty rope in one hand and pointing threateningly at the milkman with the other. He was well built and wearing a greying vest.
'What have you done?' he demanded. 'Why's my daughter...' he broke off as he noticed the squashed gerbil in the road. 'Harry?' he asked.
'Daddy' the girl cried, 'he's gone and killed Harry. Daddy, make him come back!' The father slowly lowered his arm and the rope fell to his side.
'Bloody gerbil' he muttered. 'Come on darling, I'll go and organise those horse riding lessons you've been asking for yeah? Let's go in now with the nice Milkman for a cup of tea.'
As they turned towards the house the Milkman shook his head with disbelief and followed them up the garden path. Perhaps he would keep those customers after all.
Twenty minutes later the milkman emerged from the house with a cactus plant and a bemused smile on his face. The stocky father of the little girl was an exotic plant exporter and had presented the plant as a peace offering.
Soon the Milkman was safely home relaxing and had forgotten all about the strange cactus he'd left in his van. After dinner he went to bed early faced with another early start in the morning.
The next morning his alarm roused him brutally awake at 4.30am sharp. He turned in the empty bed and realised his wife had already risen. As he walked along the corridor he noticed his young son Jamie's room was empty.
Downstairs there was no sign of life. That's strange he thought with a rising sense of panic. They can't have already gone out so early. He opened the door to look for his wife's car, only to find an empty driveway. His milkfloat was gone.
As he ran out the house dressed only in his boxers he suddenly noticed something odd. On the floor, on the exact spot where he usually parked his milkfloat, was a dead gerbil.
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