Thursday, January 12, 2012


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.


my voice scatters on the floor my eyes want even more  I'm still here... I think the hours are many and small  I crawl... to whichever h...