when they gas, they don't even wait until we are dead before they start to skin us."

"I told you I didn't want to hear this.  You're loco!"

"I hope you're right.  Maybe I'm mad and I'll wake up in my own bed and laugh later because this was only a mad mink's foray into a nightmare.  A pretty real nightmare."
"Just keep your thoughts to yourself.  No one wants to hear them."

"Sometimes they electrocute. But that's not a sure-fire death either. They stick this thin rod..."

The one next to him hissed and grabbed his neck. "If you don't shut up, I'll finish you off here now and now."

"Please. I could only pray for that. Pray for a bullet or a twisted neck. Snap and it's over...."

"No.... it's not over..." the one next to him dropped his fore arms... “It will never be over...."



...Guisseppi Tucci stood in front of a massive cabinet in the repository, looking at long shelves of insecticides. His eyes wandered to the next shelf down, the shelf that held all of his different size and models of electric mink prods. The bottom shelf held large canisters of carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide gases.

While harvesting and trapping minks he very seldom employed methods recommended by the Italian Veterinary Association to ensure the animal a quick and painless death. Who cares? They were animals for God's sake. What was the world