One of life's little lessons

I've been re-re-rewatching Pink Floyd's The Wall, which is always good for a bout of melancholy. I thought I'd share a little with you.

When I was very young (maybe six), we had a big, retarded Irish Setter named Molly. I was always sent out to feed her. Her favorite thing in the world was to bound up to me, knock me into the dewy grass, then sprint away and repeat. One day I was ordered to again subject myself to this minor abuse, but the results differed.

Instead of knocking me into the dirt, she trotted over looking ecstatic, or despondently suicidal; I couldn't tell which. In her mouth was a lump of fur. I took it from her, as if accepting a present, and found a bloody trembling baby rabbit in my young hands. I ran it inside, crying and looking for a level of compassion not found inside my home. My mother put it inside a box to shut me up, then insisted we needed to go to Wal-Mart. Apparently the franchise would fail if we didn't buy bleach from them right then.

We returned, and I ran inside to check the injured ball of fur. I only saw one scarred foot pointing at the ceiling. The rest of the mangled bunny was thankfully hidden by the cardboard box, which my mom snatched from view and dumped into the trash. She (in a rare fit of caring) told me its last hours were spent in comfort, something I didn't believe then and believe less now.

Later that day I was ordered to take the trash outside for burning. I managed not to shed a tear, which saved me from a beating. RIP you fluffy fucker.

The lesson is that all good things must pass. All bad things pass as well, but nobody notices or cares.

Maybe I shouldn't post this late at night when my shields are down.

I have become comfortably numb, out