"I feel guilty," I said. I had just given the new baby goats their shots and held them while Kami slid a tight rubber band over their testicals to castrate them.
"Hmmph. Considering you're planning on butchering them, I don't see why this would bother you."
"This is way worse. If I snuck up behind you and shot you in the head, would you hate me forever? Would your identity be shattered? Would you be miserable for the rest of your life?"
"If I wrestled you down and put bands around your breasts so that they would hurt terribly and then slowly go numb and then wither away through lack of blood and literally dry up and fall off like shriveled pieces of meat, you'd hate me for the rest of your life, right? I feel way more guilty about this than I do butchering."
I had racoon shit all over my shirt today. We went to the vet to get some innoculations for the goats. While we were there, we met a very nice Scottish Deerhound and a Newfoundland puppy named Gus. The Deerhound was nervous, waiting for his owner, not sure if he should let this strange person in this strange place pet him or not. Gus wasn't shy at all. Only three months and already big with huge webbed paws, he was in my lap getting his tummy scratched in a matter of seconds...and me, the middleaged, balding, tactical team sergeant thug was down on my knees happy to pet the cute little puppy. The vet then said that she had three orphaned racoon kits in the back room if I wanted to see them.. Oh, yeah. I'm a big softie. Tiny little things, making a wide array of noises, purring and chattering. They suckled at my fingers and climbed all over my shirt, nestling into my neck... and one just dumped on my shirt, a big slimy goop of mustard yellow racoon shit. Didn't matter- even with all my common sense and experience with racoons, I still would have taken them home if it was an option.
Beast, the airedale, gave me a strange and betrayed look when we got home. He's okay with me smelling of other dogs and cats. He's used to it and no longer gets jealous of my time with other animals. He's pretty much written me off as a slut. But a racoon, his mortal enemy. That was going too far.
Rory Miller, Mazlow and Criminals - Abraham Mazlow, A comfortable life, The orientation of the mind, Monkeys, Group Protocols, Stories, And well, tons more. Warning – you will stay up late ...
19 hours ago