June 3, 2020

White Dog defended her brother. "Imagine how rough it must have been living ferally, injured, starving. There comes a point where you just do what you must to survive."  "I know, Little White Dog of My Heart, but that is not the way things are NOW. Roman is fed fine nutritious food. He does not need to hunt."

"As you would tell, momma, your privilege is showing. who knows the scars such an existence leaves. Puff had that same streak. And Nuka. And some of the others food resource guard which is protecting their right to eat even though there is enough for all. If there is some comfort know that his act was not malicious and the death was swift. Let us recognize the bird's spirit and thank it."

This afternoon, Roman was out in the yard with Steve. In Steve's efforts to keep the yard horsenettle-free, he was whacking down weeds. He flushed a bird from the bamboo. In three strides Roman loped across the yard, leaped, and brought the bird down. In one swing, before Steve could cover the distance, the bird was dead and being devoured...by a three-legged boy wearing a face muzzle. The photo (which I won't share) and Steve's telling spoke of athleticism and horror.

I wanted to be mad...or disappointed at the beast revealed...I wanted to yell at him for the needless death. White Dog stopped me. "Time and love, momma. Time and love. Sometimes LOTS of time and oodles of love. Roman was broken and beaten into the mud. He was abandoned by all he knew and left to get by as best he could. You know how thin he was. Imagine trying to hunt still in the pain of a broken leg and being lost. The fact that he has come THIS far speaks to the true nature of his heart and soul. He is not a killer psycho, you know that."

"Sweet girl, what if this is the best he ever gets to be? What if we can't make him whole?" "Then we will love him on the best terms we can. We will just love him."

Tonight Roman and Steve sit in the darkness on the deck; Zsofia and Bailey have gone out to join them in drinking in the night and sniffing the changing scent of day to evening. So efficient was his earlier hunt that not a single drop of blood remains...not on the ground...not on his face...not on his muzzle. I think about the horrors happening among humans and ask myself if Roman's act is worse.

And then I wrap my arms around White Dog and ask the Universe for peace.