On Saturday night, Beau and I drove up to Olney Theatre to see A Passion for Justice, a one-man show about Clarence Darrow.
It was a bit of a drive. We found ourselves out of the city and onto what seemed like country roads–twisty, turny, with dense woods. This is where we saw two deer standing in a yard. I looked out his window and saw them for a split second before a row of trees hid them.
But then we saw a bit of roadkill in the road. Our weekend in NY state we saw roadkill every tenth of a mile–opossum, fox, deer, you name it. But this was small, golden. It appeared from under a big Suburban in the next lane over. We thought it was dead until it wagged its tail.
Then, it lifted its head. It was a dog. A small, beautiful dog. It lifted its head and howled. It cried the kind of cry that comes from unimaginable pain made suddenly imaginable.
It was the worst sound I have ever heard.