Last night, for the second game in a row, my volleyball team made it to three sets. Wahoo! For a team that never practices, rarely "warms up," often doesn't have enough players for a full team, and doesn't have any rehearsed "plays," I think we are doing great. And we have a blast, and that is what I think matters anyway. The sets last night were really fast-paced and so much fun. I was in a great mood on my way home.
About three miles from the house on the highway, I see -- too late -- a black and white furry little critter ambling across the highway. I was afraid that if I tried to swerve to miss this little, very-much-alive, skunk I would either 1) roll the car and kill A., the skunk, and myself or that 2) I would end up lining my tires up squarely over the skunk's little body. I braked as hard as a I could and tried to keep my tires clear of the skunk, but my little Civic just doesn't have the clearance to pass over a critter in the middle of the road.
I killed a skunk last night.
It was the most grisly sound I've ever been unfortunate enough to hear.
I cried (A. would say hysterically) for an hour.
I woke up three times last night from nightmares.
I am very seriously reconsidering becoming a vegetarian.
So, I guess this settles it: I will never join A. out on a hunt.
(Note: A. has actually been struggling for some time with his role as a hunter, and every season it is harder and harder for him to take down an animal. I won't be surprised if this fall ends up involving a lot of hiking and not much else. He is the most considerate and thoughtful hunter I've ever met. He is not a bloodthirsty or nonchalant hunter -- at all. He spends a lot of time wrestling with the ethics of hunting.)