Ethics

I strolled into my backyard on Saturday, drink in hand, to see how the garden was doing after our week away.

Rosie, one of our neighbours’ children, was vigorously hammering away at something over the fence.

“Hi Rosie,” I said.

“Hi,” she replied, ringlets bouncing as she thumped away.

I continued to inspect the garden.

“We chopped a worm in half,” remarked Rosie.

“Really?”

“Do you want to see it?”

I walked over to side of the fence and peered over at the table she was working at. She pointed out the remains of the worm. Half of its gray, meaty length led to a large splat mark and chunks of glistening worm guts. The second half of the worm was missing.

“That wasn’t very nice for the worm,” I said.

“Yeah, but it was dead already,” she chirped. “So that’s okay.”