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The child wept, begging his father to have mercy, to be God, to perform a miracle.
At his feet, the injured dog lay, wire around its neck, thick blood matting its sleek fur, eyes rolled back as it struggled for breath. The boarhound had gone missing the previous day, and the child had had the misfortune to find him thus: tangled in a snare and very near death.
The boy had run as fast as he could, faster than he thought possible, to find the one person on Earth who could save the animal: his father. When one is six years old, Father is God – nothing is beyond his ability to fix.
So it was, with Father in tow, the child hurtled back through the woods to the wounded dog. This animal had been his friend, his playmate, and now a life hung in the balance. Would there be a miracle, or no? Father could radio for a doctor, he could –
Father unslung his hunting rifle.
The child pleaded, putting himself between the man and the dog. He told his father to call a veterinarian, to cut the wire off, anything but this.
“Stand aside, son. This is the only mercy we can show him.”
The child wept, moved out of the way.
A single shot and it was done.
As tears streamed down the boy’s face, his father stood before him and said those fateful words: “Some things cannot be saved, son. We must learn to recognize when it is too late, and be ready to give the merciful strike without flinching. It was the only kindness left. By the time a veterinarian could even possibly have arrived, the dog would have suffered much more, only for the doctor to do with a needle what I have already done. Do not be blinded by the appearance of the act. In both cases, the dog would still be dead. I spared him the suffering of time.”
The child would not be comforted, nor would he believe that there could ever be such a thing as a lost cause, or a mercy killing.
Years later, those words would haunt the man the child became.
As I watched events unfold and then unravel, torn by the currents of time and human destiny, I knew my father had been wrong. Nothing is beyond saving until we draw our last breath. It is false mercy to pretend otherwise. Men are not dogs. They understand more than “I hurt”. They understand consequence.
With a chess master’s certainty, I played my part, shepherding mankind into the next era. I envisioned a return of the principles of Sanc, a nobility of spirit and richness of philosophy near the Athenian ideal of civilization. A new renaissance, at my fingertips.
Father was right. Some things must not be saved.
And men are simple animals, moved by the same needs as any other.
Civilization is an excuse for small tribes to band together into nations and wage war upon their neighbors. We are all barbarians, no matter how loudly we deny it.
We have reached that point now, with your refusal to meet me on the field of honor. Two barbarian kings we are, capable of the ultimate brutalities in the name of civilization.
Mille, I am sorry for the way things turned out. Soon, we shall both pass from this world. Though I do not believe in God, I do wonder if we shall have any of our questions answered.
In any case, whatever lies before us…I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.