it's been a month and a half since i turned 24. It seems like it's been so much longer.
I've been in kind of a sad mood for a few days recently, cause I couldn't stop remembering the only time I intentionally killed a smaller animal.
It was in the summer six or seven years ago. My mom, my dog Lindsay, and I were visiting one of her friends from church. My mom's friend, Marilyn lives on a farm and we were walking around their premises. We walk past their woodpile and there's a gopher hole in the ground near the woodpile. Marilyn starts talking about how they've been having problems with gophers lately, and that they know that there's a little family of them living under the woodpile. They had found only two gopher holes, and were planning on scaring the gophers out of one end. Marilyn tells me to get a small spade from the garage and camp the other hole while she and my mom would try to scare the gophers out. I had Lindsay follow me to the other hole. We waited there for a few minutes and then this little baby gopher bolts out of the hole. Lindsay being the dog she is, chased after it barking up a storm and ran after the pair of them.
They both disappeared into a lush corn field. I followed the sounds of Lindsay's barks and soon found the little gopher squaring itself off against my dog. Teeth were barred on both ends, I watched the two dodge each other for a bit. My mom, and Marilyn were on the outside edges of the corn field not wanting to go in, cause they were scared of the little rodent. The lil' gopher heard me approach it from the rear and turned around to defend itself from me, the much bigger threat. Unfortunately for the little guy, my dog was very good at being a distraction. I told Lindsay to go "Get the gopher!" and she redoubled her barking and nipping effort long enough to distract the gopher. I promised myself as I raised the spade to make this a quick end for the gopher. The flat end of the spade came down hard on the little varmint with a sickening thud noise. I lifted the spade thinking the gopher had met a quick, merciful end. Much to my horror, the little guy was spitting blood, flopping around a bit and making high pitched screeching noises. I had apparently broken some of its vertibrae, but not the vital ones. I had horribly crippled it, instead of killing it out right. I panicked and started hitting the gopher quickly, hoping to end its life with due haste. It took two more strikes with the shovel to finally kill it. I stood there over its little broken body, among the corn, sun shining down, realizing what I had just happened and what I had just done. Amidst the inquiries about the rodent's state of health by my mom and Marilyn, I started to cry a little. I had never taken the life of any animal until that moment, and now I had. I made my way out of the field, wiping my tears as I went, cause strong men don't cry. The light little spade felt like a full-sized splitting maul. Upon my exit from the field, I announced that the gopher was no more. My mom could sense that something was wrong and asked me if I was ok. I said I was fine.
Secretly, I wasn't. I kept in my emotions.
I kept thinking about that terrible moment of killing the little gopher, and how sad and terrible it felt. For some reason that kept coming back to me yesterday and the day before, so I was kind of in a sad mood. I don't know if I could do something like that again, unless it was a life or death situation.
I've been in kind of a sad mood for a few days recently, cause I couldn't stop remembering the only time I intentionally killed a smaller animal.
It was in the summer six or seven years ago. My mom, my dog Lindsay, and I were visiting one of her friends from church. My mom's friend, Marilyn lives on a farm and we were walking around their premises. We walk past their woodpile and there's a gopher hole in the ground near the woodpile. Marilyn starts talking about how they've been having problems with gophers lately, and that they know that there's a little family of them living under the woodpile. They had found only two gopher holes, and were planning on scaring the gophers out of one end. Marilyn tells me to get a small spade from the garage and camp the other hole while she and my mom would try to scare the gophers out. I had Lindsay follow me to the other hole. We waited there for a few minutes and then this little baby gopher bolts out of the hole. Lindsay being the dog she is, chased after it barking up a storm and ran after the pair of them.
They both disappeared into a lush corn field. I followed the sounds of Lindsay's barks and soon found the little gopher squaring itself off against my dog. Teeth were barred on both ends, I watched the two dodge each other for a bit. My mom, and Marilyn were on the outside edges of the corn field not wanting to go in, cause they were scared of the little rodent. The lil' gopher heard me approach it from the rear and turned around to defend itself from me, the much bigger threat. Unfortunately for the little guy, my dog was very good at being a distraction. I told Lindsay to go "Get the gopher!" and she redoubled her barking and nipping effort long enough to distract the gopher. I promised myself as I raised the spade to make this a quick end for the gopher. The flat end of the spade came down hard on the little varmint with a sickening thud noise. I lifted the spade thinking the gopher had met a quick, merciful end. Much to my horror, the little guy was spitting blood, flopping around a bit and making high pitched screeching noises. I had apparently broken some of its vertibrae, but not the vital ones. I had horribly crippled it, instead of killing it out right. I panicked and started hitting the gopher quickly, hoping to end its life with due haste. It took two more strikes with the shovel to finally kill it. I stood there over its little broken body, among the corn, sun shining down, realizing what I had just happened and what I had just done. Amidst the inquiries about the rodent's state of health by my mom and Marilyn, I started to cry a little. I had never taken the life of any animal until that moment, and now I had. I made my way out of the field, wiping my tears as I went, cause strong men don't cry. The light little spade felt like a full-sized splitting maul. Upon my exit from the field, I announced that the gopher was no more. My mom could sense that something was wrong and asked me if I was ok. I said I was fine.
Secretly, I wasn't. I kept in my emotions.
I kept thinking about that terrible moment of killing the little gopher, and how sad and terrible it felt. For some reason that kept coming back to me yesterday and the day before, so I was kind of in a sad mood. I don't know if I could do something like that again, unless it was a life or death situation.
Humans, bah. Animals, I'm a mess.
*hug*
~cheers