Unsuspecting Walk on the Beach

I know what’s lying in the sand before we get close enough to smell it. My first instinct is to grab my daughter’s hand and start walking the other way, but our peppy little Australian shepherd yanked the leash forward as soon as he caught a whiff of that awful scent. I stubbornly try to hold my ground as the dog keeps tugging and eagerly insisting we move forward.

“Wa’s wrong, dada?” my daughter asks.

“Nothing’s wrong!” I say as I feel my grip on the leash start slipping. “I just think we should, uh, w-we should go back the other way.”

“Da–”

The shepherd gives one pull forward and I stumble. The leash is tugged out of my hands. The dog races off. My face goes pale, but my daughter, with her bubbly adventurous nature, chases after the dog with a smile. The pup stops down a little way along the sand, sniffing the very thing I was hoping to avoid. Much to my horror, the dog opens his mouth and attempts to bite it. My daughter walks up to it and looks at the dog for assurance before poking it with her finger.

“Da, wa is that?” she asks as she looks back at me.

I don’t know what to say. I haven’t had to discuss this with my four-year-old daughter yet. My poor daughter who just yesterday was fitting shaped objects into a colorful box and doing a victory dance every time she got one right. My little girl who I just bought a firetruck for because she liked how it looked and wanted to put out fires, not understanding the consequences of what could happen if the fire isn't put out in time. My child who cried when she got her first bee sting. The kid who yaps on and on to adults and children about whatever she could, always wanting to understand everything and to impress everyone with her knowledge that, I admit, is quite remarkable for her age. The girl who felt bad for the flowers when they died in that beautiful vase a week after we had receved them. My daughter who has never experienced having a grandparent pass away, never had to go to a funeral, and never even contemplated the concept of aging, growing old, and what happens. hell, I'm not sure she's seen even an ant die.i

How am I supposed to tell her that she’s a foot away from and had just poked a human corpse?

My eyes lock onto the person’s neck as I realize how twisted and bruised it is. A bone even juts out of the purple skin awkwardly, painfully. The sight alone makes me lose my breath, my eyes unable to tear away from the bloody bone and the way it's cracked, imaging how the person could have gotten to be in such a state and the possibility of me having to go through the exact same thing to be like the corpse on the ground. I’ve seen the news and television shows, sure, but seeing this in person is not an experience I thought I’d have when I offered to take my daughter out on a walk with the dog this morning along the beach. I should dial nine-one-one, call for help, walk away, scream, freak out, anything – but my muscles can’t seem to move as I watch my daughter pick up the person’s arm and let it fall down to the sand, and our sweet little shepherd’s chin starts to turn red as he rips into the person’s leg like it’s a chicken wing.