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A different kind of animal
Sudie Crouch
From the time I turned 12 until I was about 24 or so, Mama mumbled “this is why animals eat their young” at least twice a day every day. I don’t know if she was reminding herself of some odd nature fact or making an observation about her self control. Whatever it was, those words were uttered daily. I found it odd until I discovered the reason later. “You were a horrible teenager,” she said. “Your mouth was always sassing off. If I had said half the stuff to Granny that you say to me, you wouldn’t be standing here.” “I don’t see the correlation,” I sassed.