Thursday, January 12, 2012

Spin

Yesterday, after I'd dropped the kids off at school and was driving home to work at syllabi and class prep, I ran over a squirrel. I've braked-swerved-stopped for the suicidal little creatures before and would have this time, except that this one leapt out of the undergrowth before I could harness a reaction. Serves me right. I should have biked/walked the kids. I felt the thunk of its body under the wheel and could see its inert form lying an inch or so from the edge of the road. I felt miserable.

I called my mother.

She was horrified. And suggested that to make up for taking a life, I should scatter grain in the garden for other squirrels to eat.

I'm such a bad person, that all I could think of was--but I'm not the one who eats meat! 

_

1 comment:

Attorney At Large said...

Oh, I hate that. It's such an icky feeling, even if there is nothing you could have done. The first time we ever saw a fox in the Sierras was when M hit one, and we both cried; it was snowing and we couldn't swerve (what with the cliff), but we both still cringe at the memory.