Walking in the woods, I come upon a ghastly tableaux of disembowled, hideously mutilated animals stitched to the trees and to each other. The key feature is the prodigious variety of the methods used to confine and deform these defenseless beings. There is eerie Celtic music banging in my head and my heart is pounding in my chest as I behold the handiwork of the savage human intruders gifted with infinite imagination and a repertoire of undertakings that disdains the quality of mercy. The protracted, unrelieved helplessness of the creatures is revealed in flashes time and again as I witness one dismemberment after another. I am hysterical–crying, agonizing, praying that the tiny beings survive my efforts to extricate them. As I tend to one small sparrow who has been trussed and inconceivably disfigured, the high-pitched jarring Celtic music swallows up all sound and I find myself stumbling along in the darkness. My clumsy efforts barely seem to have lessened their suffering. And the “clean” smell of the civilized, exquisitely inventive savage appropriates the air.