On the last day of Pedro's life, her breasts were lactating and dragging on the ground. She was restless in the heat; She cooled herself in the shadow by Daryl's trailer. Daryl was stamping at the crumbling cement of his neighbor's steps with the handle of his baseball bat. White dust puffed into the wet air, gray dust and rocks were pounded into the ground. It satisfied him and absorbed all of his concentration. He thought that when he was older, he will buy his mother red shoes like Dorothy. He started walking toward his trailer and stamping the gravel with the flat end of his baseball bat. He saw Pedro taking her afternoon nap by his house. He walked over to her. His shadow overlapped with the trailer's, layering over the dog. Daryl tapped the ground between him and Pedro. She didn't wake up. He tapped her foot with the flat dusty end of his baseball bat. She opened her eyes. He smashed the baseball bat into her head. He beat her body, hearing the crunch of ribs muffled by muscles. He beat at her for maybe twenty minutes until he became afraid that someone was looking at him. He threw down the bat and looked around. No one. He went inside, grabbed two old bath towels, wrapped up Pedro, and dumped her into the blue rubbermaid garbage can by his mail box. He wondered how much it would cost to buy red shoes for his mom.