Squirrel?

I've been trying to come up with a delicate way to describe the apparent demise of Rambo squirrel, and I've come to the conclusion that it can't be done. So if you are at all squeamish, just scroll down and read the nice post on bread you'll find below this one.



Two days ago I came home to find a rather large, almost certainly dead squirrel on the road in front of my mailbox. Obviously the victim of a hit-and-run, yet strangely intact. It was not pretty. I hesitantly took stock of the situation. I'm not gonna lie, the part of me that creates horror movie plot-lines in my sleep whispered to me of the potential for a stunned rodent to recover ("he's only mostly dead") and that was more disturbing than reality.

A few quick peeks to desensitize myself and I couldn't help going for a closer look. No movement. Probably dead. So then I'm hauling out the tape measure to document its size. I don't know why. (If you're wondering, the unofficial length from the safety zone was eighteen inches.)

What to do with dead squirrel? I didn't want to leave him out there in the road, and I certainly didn't want to get any closer, but it didn't seem like a job for animal control. So I walked away.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

And some time later Rambo was mysteriously gone. Of course, I can't be certain it was Rambo Squirrel. And who knows where he went? But it stinks of sequel.