Journal

3.4.06 Fallen stock.

Two of my least favourtie things are being kept up all night by a client, playing music, shouting to herself, stmaping about, when she knows the difference betwen day and night, (and if she doesn't grasp this care in the community thing she's going back to the hospital) and fallen stock.
I was so glad to get home from my second job, away from work after 25 stright hours in the flat of a client, and there was dead cow hanging by one hoof from a crane, outside my house.
I know cows occasionally die on the farm, I knew that when I took this house, even though we are all vegetarians, I felt that just becuase you don't like something, doesn't mean it doesn't happen, and none of us a right to be shielded form the horrible things in this world. Plus, at least that cow never had to travel toa slaughter house in a crowded truck and wait in line, watching, knowing what's coming next.
He popped his clogs in a field he was comfortable in.
Still, doesn't mean I want to see him hanging up outside my kitchen window.
Maybe it's a hanging thing?
I sure do hate dealing with people who've hung themselves in my first job.
It would be a real writing challenge to me to express accurately how alarming that sight is.