Trying to kill things for my wife |

Trying to kill things for my wife

Jeffrey Bergeron
Special to the DailyBiff America

“You need to get up and kill that animal.”Those are the words my mate used to rouse me from slumber.”We just ate three hours ago,” I mumbled into my pillow and fell back to sleep. I’m not sure how long she let me rest before she bugged me once more. It felt like only a few minutes, though it was probably less.Despite being elbowed in the ribs, I might have remained resting. But as I hovered on the precipice of consciousness, our dog jumped up onto the bed and head-butted me.”What is going on here?” I yelled. “Why is Robby in the bed?””He’s scared by the howling,” Ellen said, “I told you. There’s an animal suffering in the woods across the street. It is so sad, you need to go and put it out of it misery.”I’ve often wondered about the concept of putting an animal out of it misery. How do we humans know that the animal in question wouldn’t rather continue living – pain and all? I’ve also always been curious why it’s always the husband’s job to get out of bed to roam the woods looking for a dying animal whose howls are keeping his wife awake.Those high-minded contemplations aside, the reality of it was I needed to deal with this issue if I was going to be allowed to rest.My mate dragged me to the deck outside our bedroom and said, “Listen.” Sure enough, about 50 yards away, I could hear what did indeed sound like an animal moaning. I asked, “What makes you think those are moans of pain? They might be pleasure moans; it is mating season.” In truth, I have no idea if it’s mating season or not. I do know that I’d hate to be a member of any species that had to wait for a certain season to mate. I also know that if a human wants to make sure that doesn’t become the case in his marriage, he needs to occasionally do what his wife asks.We stood on the deck in the dark and listened to the creature scream; it did sound like it was hurt. That said, I’ve made similar sounds while happy.I was getting dressed and compiling an assortment of weapons of which to kill the creature when we heard an explosion, then silence.The gun or firecracker sounded like it came from the complete opposite direction, but it did give me a plausible excuse to delay my mission. We stood on the deck; Ellen wearing a bathrobe, me in a headlamp and my animal-killing clothing. We both listened. Despite not hearing any more moans, I headed out the door.You can guess the rest. After wandering in the woods for 30 minutes, I returned home empty-handed. By then, Ellen was asleep and my dog was occupying my place on the bed. Rather than wake them both, I sat on our couch in the dark, stared out into the night and thought about death.Death and a hatred of telemarketers is the one common denominator of all living things. As the saying goes: “None of us are getting out of this life alive.” Of course, none of us know how animals perceive their own mortality. Do they lament that over lost time and lost love, or do they simple surrender to nature? Certainly for humans, our feelings are conflicted. Most of us believe in some sort of afterlife, yet few believe to the point where we are in a hurry to test out the theory. After an hour of reflection and 12 ounces of beer, I returned to bed. Ellen rolled over and asked, “Did you find the animal?” When I told her that I found no evidence of any dying creature, and it was my guess that the animal was either not injured or had been eaten. “That poor thing.” She said, “I’d hate to die alone in the woods and be eaten by animals.”I held her close and said: “That will never happen. Not as long as I can find your body before the wild animals do.”That’s what love’s all about.Jeffrey Bergeron under the alias of Biff America can be seen on RSN TV, heard on KOA radio, and read in several newspapers and magazines. He can be reached at’s book, “Steep, Deep and Dyslexic,” is available from local book stores or at, Colorado

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