My third dog Charlie. Charlie was the first dog for whom I was responsible. I failed miserably.
Charlie killed some rabbits, for food for sport? Didn't matter. The bunnies were livestock, being raised for their meat by a farmer down the road.
Killing livestock is a serious offense for canines in Virginia, a capital crime.
I never requested proof of Charlie's crime. How many rabbits? Who witnessed the event? Show me a Polaroid. Show me rabbit carcasses. I was a total believer in the righteousness of Authority. The Man came to the house and said the dogs had to die. (Dogs, my roomate had a dog). We inquired about death options. The best death option was to shoot them on site. Right then, at the house. Execute them.
And so. Mr. Man shot the dogs for us. I remember crying a lot. Digging a hole.
It changed me.
Labels: myth and legend