My apologies for saying that Greg Weaver's cows would be in Hava Java by last Thursday. Apparently they're going up tonight.
Today has been a day of missed connections. Too much phone tag for me, thankyouverymuch! There is one connection that I'm glad I missed, though. On my way home from work I saw a dog lying in the middle of the street. At least I thought it was a dog. It could have been someone's jacket. I slowed the car to an agonizing 25 mph and crept closer.
It was a fawn. As it rose and scrambled away, dragging its hind legs, I realized how absolutely horrified it must have been at my camry. I hope it found a soft place to die. I'd like to be able to trick myself into solace by saying, "oh, it's the cycle of life" but something that small isn't born to just die right away, it's got to go out and do stuff! What right do we have roaring our steel and plastic monsters through their paved-over thickets? I mean, I am glad that the road is there because it is the most efficient way to get to and fro, but it was a little baby deer!
I just have a difficult time justifying these tiny, long deaths. Before I was a teenager, the passing of every fish and guinea pig was a tragedy. We buried them down by the willow tree at the corner of the property. By the time we moved we had a graveyard. I gave away my last guinea pig. He was pretty old when I handed her off to that little girl. I hope she didn't have to bury him too soon after she brought him home. Small graves make me uneasy. The epitaphs that have the same day for the birth and death date send me reeling. Whose life also ended with these?
I've heard that the day before your child dies is the last day of your life, too. I can't imagine how it could happen any other way.
Man, I am sorry for bringing up stuff like this. That fawn really got me. Like, I am vilifying the van that I saw in the oncoming lane just before I saw it.