Carol Frost

The dog you shot has littered the yard with jawbones and gnawed hooves of slaughtered yearlings.     You learn this a summer later, mowing the terraces of weeds north of the house. A pig's tooth in your pocket at first, soon the cotton cloth by y [...]

As a child I parleyed with animals, stuffed and real. Making my kitten pilot of a boot, I guided from one end of a string the dizzy flight and collapse. I was fearful of people as well as things, and my faithful toy shepherd with his painted face sa [...]

is how you carry it, how it is; for example, the turkeys which seemed ordinary—grazing through the piled brush for butternuts, all head and feathers, then taking the shot because they didn't see you standing on a stump, one dying outright, the oth [...]