Fear taints the meat, that’s why it’s important to aim for the vitals, so death can sink her nails into his rump and shoulders before the last hard fight to live.

When the blood wells from the wound like a crushed pomegranate, you’ll know the bullet discovered his heart. Now watch his final faltering steps, try to see where he crashes, chronicle his fall, and be patient cause dying is best done in the cool dirt under your deck.

I’ve shot ‘em bad and tore after them as they fled, dragging their hindlegs, their eye’s quaking like your dog’s under the threat of the noise and the needle in the vet office lobby before they go.

And something will collapse if you find him while he’s spine-broke, his antler crown gouging the earth, and you gotta open

his throat to the November wind.