She bleated at my rhymes. I picked her droppings.
She was nowhere, the morning of Eid-al-adha.
Father returned, hauling the bulk in his arms. A stray dog followed, sniffing.
Her blood on his sleeve still haunts me.
Vegan, since.
The Red
She bleated at my rhymes. I picked her droppings.
She was nowhere, the morning of Eid-al-adha.
Father returned, hauling the bulk in his arms. A stray dog followed, sniffing.
Her blood on his sleeve still haunts me.
Vegan, since.
I have a friend who raised sheep as a kid and have always wondered how you could eat the ones you love. Though an omnivore safely removed from knowing my food, I could see how you might become a vegan.
I can see how that would be a tragic experience. The second last line is great – very evocative.
Thanks Lisa!
Its the story of someone I know:(
Ooof. The detail that really worked for me was the stray dog. Nice job!
Thanks Christine!
Oh no. I always wonder about how the 4H kids and others that raise animals for food can handle this.