I vividly remember the sight. A wolf. Feral. It’s matted pelt, the iris waning and waxing itself to the pupils dilation. Its frail body spasms as its stomach wound leaks blood. It jerks itself around frantically, making lots of noise. I want to look away but I can only watch as it jolts its entire body, ripping the wound farther open. Soon, its organs spill out onto the dry ground. In its last moments, it stares at me. Its eyes bore through my being. it calls out to me begging me to help, but I can only watch as it relaxes its muscles and takes its last breath. It died, later the next morning I saw its carcass full of writhing, dirty, little disgusting maggots.