Just a hole in the ground. Out of sight, out of mind. They dump us in it when we no more use, or sick or we puppies with the wrong sire. They tie a stone to a back leg, just in case, and they drop us in. Years and years the huntsmen do it, dumping, killing slowly, easier than a bullet in the head. We saw that with the big animals, the hoof and antler animals too big for us to catch and kill. Quick. Sometimes. The life fades quick, like the night falling. Not when they drop us in the hole. Not quick, they want. Long and painful. They laugh. We hear. And we are angry…

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