When I was a girl scout, we went camping periodically.
One year, on the weekend of our camping trip, the temperature was around 40F.
Even though we were cold, we refused to cut the trip short.
There was a dog at the camp that we played with in our spare time.
The dog was deaf. Blind. Crippled.
It was living a miserable life.
And it died a miserable death, thanks to the smoldering ashes left by my girl scout troop.
In an effort to find warmth the dog lay in the fire. When it got too warm, it found that it couldn't get up.
The next morning, our troop leader broke the news to us, around the firepit death trap, making her best attempt to stiffle her laughter.
"Girls, the dog died."
"Who wants hot dogs for breakfast?!"
My troop leader was a sick woman.