King, Of The Rubble

The Catholic church that once stood along the little highway that winds through Pearlington now exists as a small pile of rubble on either side of it. Broken pews and torn hymnals. Smashed statues of Jesus and bent altar rails. Like the rest of Pearlington, it smells like dust and mold and death.

A small pack of dogs now roam the former grounds of the church. They're hungry and dirty, and have largely reverted back to nature. The leader of the pack is this large golden dog, scruffy and proud, his snout swollen and bruised. I took to calling him King, because that's the way he acted, and was treated by his pack.

That's King, above, standing atop the rubble of the church, the Virgin Mary in the background and the swamps behind her. King's barking at some well-meaning animal rescue volunteers from Virginia who were trying to catch him and his pack. It was a fifteen minute stand-off, but in the end they ran off with their tails between their legs.

The animal rescue people, did, that is.