The first time M. who is a small animal vet tech, was here, she crawled partway under the deck and retrieved a fussy kitten. Its eyes were mattered -- it was obviously sick.
This time, one of the long haired black with silver tips was nearly dead. J. picked it up and M. said, "What are you going to do with it?"
"What is generally done," he said, heading for the large water trough in the stud pen. M. was clueless. "It's suffering." Clearly, the kitten was not long for this world. There was a turkey buzzard flying at an extremely low level... Ominously, to my way of thinking.
I thought about explaining it to M. but decided some farm facts of life were just better left unsaid. I did start up a different conversation with her to hold her at the top of the hill while J. went down to do his good Samaritan deed of the day, tough as it was. For the life of me, I can't remember a single word either of us said.