clean-up crew

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There they were on duty at their recyclers perch on Old Maryville Pike, keeping watch over the highway for roadkill. When they pronounce a thing dead, it's dead.  

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum," in the Mandalorian tongue of "Star Wars" speak, roughly, "I am still alive but you are dead."

Ever vigilant, they're drawn to death; have an eye for it. Yes, that's a black vulture. When a death occurs, they move in like a group of staid morticians, clothed in ebony. Solemn. Nodding their heads in agreement. It's time to do their job. Begin decomposition. Nature's clean up crew, patrolling the highways, removing roadkill. 

Some studies estimate up to one million animals are struck and killed every 24 hours in this country. Dogs. Cats. Raccoons. Opossums. Deers. Squirrels. Groundhogs. All are fair game, so to speak, if they inadvertently venture out onto the asphalt.

Thank goodness we have vultures, or it would get messy out there. 

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