There is the globe,The foundation of my bodily existence.It wears me out with work and duties,It gives me rest in old age,It gives me peace in death.For the on who supplied me with what I needed in lifeWill also give me what I need in death.
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She carried a scabbedover wound on her hip where her mate had bitten her two weeks before somewhere in the mountains of Sonora. He’d bitten her because she would not leave him. Standing with one forefoot in the jaws of a steeltrap and snarling at her to drive her off where she lay just beyond the reach of the chain. She’d flattened her ears and whined and she would not leave. In the morning they came on horses. She watched from a slope a hundred yards away as he stood up to meet them.
Cormac McCarthy