The blood. And later on, when my mother and I carried Rex to the pit and threw him in, down into the depths, to rot with the other unwanted carcasses, I knew that part of me went down with him. The good part. I tried to summon up some tears for him, but I couldn’t cry. That poor animal never did me any harm—he showed me only love, only kindness. And yet I couldn’t cry for him. Instead, I was learning how to hate.
