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Day Eleven – A Series of Deaths

August 17, 2009


Today was not a lucky day for small creatures.

First one goldfish dies, then a second, and a third. Jo and I transport the fish from the lodge aquarium to the beach and lay them to rest. We debate how deep we should dig while a seagull watches us like a…hawk…and agree: to the elbow should do the trick. We hurry to fill in the holes as a family strolls by. A nice day at the beach is perhaps not the time to tackle a life-lesson about “Mommy, how come those girls are making those fishes go in the sand?”

We pack, smooth, pat, then mark their little graves with a feather, a stick, a rock.

The lodge has a resident cat, who takes his hunting quite seriously. As I pick my way along the path to the beach, I nearly plant my bare foot on his latest kill. I’m not sure why he only devoured the face–it seems to me that would be the boniest, least delectable bit, but what do I know?

The remains of a rather monstrous fish, body split in the middle as though swimming toward its own tail. Apparently, there were others washed up on the beach across the island, similarly decayed.

By far the worst, this frog was offed voodoo-style, doomed to hop forever with a feather from its killer in place of its face.

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