“We frantically shoveled dirt into the grave covering Chulita’s body with each toss. Shovel-load after shovel-load the grave finally began to fill to the rim. After a few more tosses of dirt, it quickly became obvious the grave was far too shallow. Chulita’s left rear leg, stiff as a board, was sticking up well above the ground just below the hock. We dropped our shovels and sat down on the ground tired, defeated, sweating, and running very late for the game. We both just stared at the scene. There it was, so high it was casting a shadow from the headlights of the idling truck. Her dusty old left leg looked as though it had grown up from the ground like a fat leafless tree branch.”