Last night I sat on the porch (last night house sitting!) in the mist and cursed at the cat rubbing against me as I held the shutter for 5 minutes in an effort to capture all the lightning bugs. Not a total failure.
I woke up to a text from my mom this morning that read, "We have another contestant for you. Good morning, Honey!" The second read, "It's a talker too. We discussed the consequences of being in the veggie garden but all I got back was attitude." People stop wondering why I'm the way I am when they meet my mom but also say, "Oh, your mom is so sweet! She brought us over the best cinnamon rolls!" She doesn't have the heart to kill anything but slugs on the lettuce.
However, the little bugger didn't have quite so much to say to me when I picked up the cage in one hand while carrying the .22 in the other. A little strawberry rubbed on the muzzle calmed him right down and the shot split it's head open instantaneously.
The bottom line is, someone has to shoot it and I might as well get over it and get over it now. You never know what you'll encounter in the future as a photojournalist... especially as one planning to move to Africa. And Jacob Mills didn't think I could kill the goat last summer. You gotta do what you gotta do.
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