Last night before I went to be entirely, I let the dog and the cat in, who I had let out much earlier in the night. The dog came running up to me with something hanging out of his mouth. I yelled at him and he dropped it near the door. After I let him in I looked at it. It was a little baby bunny, it's fur torn off around it's midsection, and it's back legs twisted. I could see it's lower body inflate and deflate. The poor thing was still alive. I knew I really only had one choice, but I still feel terrible about it. I took the bunny in plastic bags and laid it on the lawn and smashed it with a rock to put it out of it's misery. I prayed for it. I'm not terribly religious, but I know that I killed something that didn't deserve to die. I'm sorry it had to spend it's last minutes in plastic, I'm sorry I let my dog kill it, I'm sorry I coulnd't comfort it. This was the second bunny I had to kill a week. I broke up with Jackie last friday, the relationship was dying anyway. I didn't care for her like I used to, and she just kept getting more and more desperate. If I didn't break up with her then all the life would eventually be sucked out of the both of us. I ignored her and didn't care, maybe she'll find someone who does care. Maybe she'll be happy again, a happy she doesn't remember. I'm sorry god. I don't treat things here well, but I mean well. Why do all the most beutiful things have to die? Why are the cutest things the most vunerable? Bye like