Feblary 15/17?

A gull landed on the tip of the rockpile today. Flew away before I could get in range. I wished it into tartarus, where it could peck out Father Hailley's bloodshot little eyes through eternity.

Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha!

Ha!

Don't know how many days its been now. Took off my back right leg even more, but lost a lot of blood. Pain excruciating in spite of heroin. Shock-trauma would have killed a lesser man. Let me answer with a question: How badly does the patient want to survive? How badly does the patient want to live? Well? I feed. I eat. I survive. I am food. I am my own roadblock to surviving. My hoof was not enough. Leg taste bttr.

My only hooves trembling. If they are betraying me, I'm through. They have no right to betray me. No right at all. I've taken care of them all their lives. Pampered them. They better not. Or they'll be sorry.

At least I'm not hungry.

One of the boards from the balloon had split down the middle. One end came to a point. I used that. I was drooling but I made myself wait. And then I got thinking of . . . oh, parties we used to have. What was that pink horse's name? it threw good parties.. We'd be sitting on a field in the dusk with big treatsies, talking about something. Friendship maybe?