My foster dog, who up to now has seemed the be the gentlest of souls, just bounded into the house with a bloody muzzle. Not his blood, though. a search of the yard revealed a baby possum, shredded in a manner amazingly similar to any chew toy you might see lying around my house.
However, the chew toys lying around my house are not ** alive ** , and struggling pitifully to get away from our pentrating flashlight, taking one step, then collapsing. Resting for a few minutes, then struggling to take another step before collapsing.
Of course, I can’t stand seeing the poor thing suffer, and the kind and decent (not to mention more sanitary) thing to do at this point would be to brain the beast witha large cement block. But there is no way on this earth that I could do that without vomiting instantly and bursting into tears. I just can’t. I am clear as a bell that it is far more cruel and selfish (and unsanitary) to let the creature drag itself all over our yard and then slowly die, in agony. I KNOW. But I suck.
Goddamn dog. I was totally on the fence about keeping him…well, he just made my decision for me.
** Pump Action Gerbil ** is out there trying to convince himself that the possum will be okay, because he’s certainly not too interested in crusing it to death either.
But he just did. Ack. Hacked its head off.