It began with a simple tale: a premature deer delivered by caesarean section after his mother was hit by a car.

It spread from there.

Over and over again the story was told.

Unfortunately, and despite the most sincere hopes and intentions of some humans—let alone their efforts—this story did not end well.

Within me rests the plague of a tormented soul.  Why must the intrusion of people upon the world of nature be so destructive, so devastating, so disastrous?

I suspect it’s because, as a whole, we simply do not care.

Rupert cared.

And he certainly deserved more than he received, as did his mother.

When next I see someone charged with manslaughter for running down a pedestrian in the street, I shall mention Rupert, I shall point to the disparity, and I shall weep at the stoic response.

[the title is a nod to an intriguing expression of Christian empathetic disappointment; it comes from The Stand by Stephen King; BTW, you really must go look at the photos in that first link if you are to fully appreciate this post]