Within three days, Amelia’s lamb Blake was dead. “Bloody rhododendrons,” Amanda told me over the phone. “We tied him up next to the rhododendron bush at Calf Club, and the next thing we knew he had this lime green froth coming out at both ends. Then it was coming out his nose, too, like a bright green mucus. We took him to Jackie, and she gave him an injection. Amelia read him a story. But there wasn’t anything we could do.” “What’s a rhododendron?” I knew it was a plant thing, but I couldn’t picture it in my head. “Those bright pink flowers, the ones growing at the end of the playing field.” “But there were all those farmers there! Didn’t anyone tell you the flowers were poisonous?” “It’s not like that, in the country. Animals just die. You just have to get used to it, living out on a farm.” I understood her point, but it still seemed like the death plants might have been pruned before little kids started tying up their lambs nearby.
