Remember that mother’s day when I saw crows killing a baby pigeon and had to feel all creeped out about it? Tonight was crow’s turn for pain. Fuckin’ middle of the night going for a walk there’s a crow skipping along the ground looking all skinny. There’s an interested cat nearby. A great deal of a crow’s bulk is provided by its wings. Was it skinny because it already had a wing torn off? Or just lost a lot of feathers during some torment? I kept walking, hurt in my heart.
I know that’s how it’s gotta be, but it would be nice to never ever see it. For me, at least. I know some of you are cool with doing the dirty work of making animals into food. I respect that. But woof. Not for me.