I have a real problem with rescuing critters, and I fear in old age I will become a cat lady. You know, the kind you dread standing behind in the grocery store line, because she has 50 cans of Fancy Feast, smells like cat piss, and insists on showing the cashier pictures of every single one of her dozen or so furry friends.
I knew my rescuing was a problem when I found myself reaching down to save earthworms from the sidewalk. I have a habit of posting cute puppy pictures of dogs needing adopted from the kill shelter on my friends' Facebook pages. I have five dogs of my own for God's sake!
However, it wasn't until a few weeks ago that I realized I needed therapy for this little problem. Kevin and I were driving and watched as a deer got hit right in front of us. I started bawling my eyes out, and Kevin was trying to take a work call and console me at the same time. I made him turn around and get out of the car to see if the deer had a pulse. Yes, I would have put it in the back seat and done CPR, but sadly and luckily, it was already dead.
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