Beatrice looked down as the light of the lantern in her right hand had illuminated the tableau. At Jim’s feet and before the sniffing snouts of Joseph and Jesus lay Mary. The prostrated coydog’s hind legs and front right leg were gone. Its lone remaining limb—its front left leg—pawed spastically in the grass, digging trenches while its three stumps waggled uselessly in their sockets. Beatrice thought of a half-eaten roasted hen and was nauseated.
Jim wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve as Mary’s lone paw rent the grass and soil. Suffering, the dog whimpered.
“Get inside,” the titan said to his fiancé. “Now.”
Beatrice turned away. Her hands were shaking and beads of sweat chilled her forehead and upper lip as she walked toward the house.
“Run off, you two—scat,” Jim said to Joseph and Jes
