A Deer in the Moonlight
All Dogs Go to Heaven. But humans (like Kristi Noem)?
The moon was full that Kentucky night. The air was crisp, the sky clear. Stars broke through the moonlight and the forest was quiet. Ray and his father were deer-hunters. They crept slowly through the night, rifles in hand, listening. Watching. Then they saw it.
Above them, on a rocky promontory, radiant in the ivory moonlight, stood a magnificent stag. It was as large a deer as they had ever seen. Its antlers spread like a tree. The ivory light made it seem ethereal, magic, iridescent. Ray slowly raised his rifle. His father grabbed the barrel and made Ray lower his weapon. He shook his head. They would not shoot the deer.
“I was going crazy,” Ray recounted in a barracks at Lackland Air Force Base, where we were in basic training. “I wanted to shoot that deer so bad.” He didn’t know why his father would not let him shoot the deer.
I did.
Ray described a magnificence he could not yet fathom. Where he saw a trophy, his father saw divinity. Sometimes in life you need to lower your weapon in awe. Ray had not yet learned that. I hope Ray eventually grew into his father.
What do you think Kristi Noem would have done?
Would she have lowered her weapon? Or would she have casually killed the deer, bragging about it later, as she did with the young dog Cricket and a pet goat?
Two Dogs Who Went to Heaven
I’ve known two persons who shot their dogs. They were friends of mine and they had their reasons. Paul, a grizzled Vietnam veteran, watched one of his dogs, a small black-and-white mutt named Peepers, sicken, and weaken. While he took good care of his dogs – he ensured food, water, shelter, and vaccinations – Paul had limited means. When he knew it was time to end Peepers’ suffering, he couldn’t afford a veterinarian. He ended the dog’s life with a well-placed bullet.
Joe McFarland, whom everybody called “Joe Mack,” was a Tennessee redneck who owned a lumber yard on the west side. An older woman named Viola lived nearby. Viola owned chickens. She lived a mere rung or two above the poverty line and her chickens were part of her livelihood.
One day a dog, or dogs, slaughtered nearly all her birds. Joe Mack’s dog had been running free earlier, and Viola assumed his dog had killed them. She confronted Joe, who believed her. Joe was embarrassed that his dog had killed his neighbor’s precious chickens, kicked himself for letting it happen, and shot and killed the dog in anger. Then Viola sued him.
Since I was Joe Mack’s lawyer, I represented him in Justice Court. Our defense was simple. We established there were numerous dogs roaming the neighborhood. While Joe frequently let his dog run free, there were sightings of a feral pack of canines. Coyotes also frequented the area. Ultimately, there was no way to prove that, among all those meandering canines, Joe’s dog was the one that killed Viola’s chickens. We won the case.
The reality hit Joe on the witness stand. As the case unfolded, it became obvious that Viola’s attorney could not prove Joe’s dog killed her chickens. Furthermore, we established it was more likely that other dogs – or coyotes – killed them.
Joe began to tear up. He was accompanied to court by his brother and a few friends. All of them spent quality time with several adult beverages before heading downtown. Joe turned red. His eyes welled with tears. He realized, for the first time, that his dog had not done the thing for which he died. Joe had killed an innocent dog.
“That was the best goddamned dog,” Joe cried out, pounding on the witness stand, tears streaking down his face. Justice of the Peace Emojean Girard asked if he needed a break. “No,” Joe sniffed, reaching over to touch her arm. “I’m okay, honey.” (I cringed when my client called the judge “honey.” I visited Emojean – a wonderful person – in her chambers after the trial and said to her, “Thanks for not putting Joe in jail.” “You’re welcome,” she replied sweetly.)
Love and Respect
Tommy Tomlinson, writing in The Washington Post, notes how important wolves and dogs were to human development. A year ago, I wrote a post noting that humans and dogs essentially domesticated each other. Ours is an ancient, mysterious, and wonderful relationship.
Paul knew that. So did Joe Mack. When they shot their dogs, they didn’t brag about it. They grieved. Ray’s father would have grieved for the deer, had he not lowered Ray’s rifle. Animals are not just disposable targets. It is just and right to respect, and sometimes love, all our fellow creatures.
I suspect the dark, icy South Dakota Governor only loves and respects the one that stares back at her from the mirror.
What makes her different makes her dangerous: the black void where compassion should reside.