Sinful sot

I was driving carefully last night, seeing the glowing eyes of wandering animals and being too slow to capture on camera the none-too fast raccoons crossing the rural road. I wasn't cautious enough and crushed and crumpled a sad little oppossum. I knew I hit something, but was unsure what. Stupidly I was thinking ... "I brought my tripod, but forgot the wedge ... go back and get it." It was raining and I dispelled the idea, knowing the rain would worsen. Had I stopped then and got the wedge -- the possum would be alive by me, perhaps dead by another -- to ignorant to avoid cars. I got a few shots in the night, later woken and kept awake by the storm and other issues. A nagging -- a displeasure with accidental killing. I fitfully slept.

Tonight, fewer critters on the road. High jumping toads crossing the road -- welcoming their deaths by leaping high, not far. They were and are summer fodder -- living only a short while, some species longer than others, most dying before mating. And no for a really nasty segue, mating before dying talk shows.

Paternity testing on controversy shows ... "He's the father" where a line of men are tested and found to not be the father. I can't decided which is sicker, the guys sitting elbow to elbow okay with having sex with a loose cannon -- they, themselves complacent biomes of viruses or the female who can't narrow the partner down to a list shorter than five. Some people should not be capable of procreating. That is a sick, sick, sick, scenario.