I am a horribly soppy twat when it comes to little fluffy creatures.
I can grimly sit through hours of carnage watching war documentaries, a steely glint in my eye as I watch men gunned down and blown up, but as soon as I drive past a dead thing on the road my guts crumple and I imagine the poor wee soul's last seconds.

While it might not be the top of my list, animals being senselessly killed on roads would be one of the top 20 things I would get rid of if I was Morgan Freeman for the day.

There was a fox on the M74 for somewhere in the region of two months before some lucky fellow was tasked with scraping what was left into a bag, and every day I drove past it it tugged at my tear ducts.

Which makes it even worse that even I, yes, I have slain an innocent creature in my mighty death machine of death!

I hit a bird just outside the village where I live in my old Honda Ballade about 11 years ago.

I drove up and down the road three times trying to find it in case it was still alive.

I used to be ashamed of being such a soft twat, but now I don't care, I yams what I yams.

I still eat delicious beef though.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 2:28, Reply)