A calf clinging to the remnants of a hut comes hurtling down. I am just a hair’s breadth ahead of my friends when I reach it.
It seems to be in good shape except for its shivering and frightened looks. Before selling it to the butcher, I want to show it to my wife. Not yet fully recovered from our infant daughter’s death.
“Poor thing. Look at its forlorn eyes. God knows where its mother is. We’ll keep it.”