Forever ago, I had an Alaskan Malamute who made an occasional hobby of killing things. Chickens from a nearby farm sometimes, but mostly gophers as they could be found closer to home. Every time when I’d go to bed only to find, eventually, she’d left a ‘trophy’ on my pillow, the hardest thing was remembering that it was a thoughtful gift, and to be suitably proud. Gross, gory, loving presents right where I’d be sure to find them. Eventually. Gotta be proud, I’d tell myself.
Something to remember when someone, thinking how friendly and accepting they’re being, asks “What are you?”
Forever ago, I had an Alaskan Malamute who made an occasional hobby of killing things. Chickens from a nearby farm sometimes, but mostly gophers as they could be found closer to home. Every time when I’d go to bed only to find, eventually, she’d left a ‘trophy’ on my pillow, the hardest thing was remembering that it was a thoughtful gift, and to be suitably proud. Gross, gory, loving presents right where I’d be sure to find them. Eventually. Gotta be proud, I’d tell myself.
Something to remember when someone, thinking how friendly and accepting they’re being, asks “What are you?”