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She led us through a hole in the fence and over to a door in the big shed near the middle of the yard. The bottom panel had been kicked out. She quickly scrambled through the opening then stuck her head out and motioned us inside. With some difficulty, I squeezed through the door panel. Jesse, Joey and Radio followed. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light in the room, I saw children and animals of all types, ages and sizes spread around the room. Small, dark shapes lurked on top of the old tractor, the dusty benches and a rusty mower. They huddled in little groups against the cold getting what warmth they could from each other, filthy blankets, and old newspapers they must have salvaged from the garbage.

Cats and dogs lay with them, some obviously hurt. A small black girl sat in one corner holding a large labrador mutt who was covered in blood. The animal was too weak to even lift its head as we entered. Several other children stood around a makeshift bed on top of the oil caked slab of plywood. Two small shapes lay in the squalor of rags and newsprint piled up to provide some barrier between their small bodies and the cold ground.

Dusty waved us over to the two bedraggled shapes on the plywood bed. "This is the worst ones. This little girl can't wake up." She pulled back the soiled blanket. Jesse caught her breath, tears coming to her eyes. "Oh Tom" ligament standing out. Her stomach fell back into a ribcage that was mostly a series of black and purple bruises. As Jesse ran her hands over her little body, searching for breaks, she found several other ugly contusions and scrapes. One cut just behind the hairline was covered with matted hair and dried blood.

We stood there frozen, paralyzed by their clear, purposeful eyes... eyes that were much too old... eyes that had seen too much. I felt distinctly uncomfortable, somehow false in the face of those eyes. They offered no accusation but I stood accused.