The Case of the Kamikazee Squirrel

Yesterday I ran over a squirrel.

Poor little squirrel.

I felt queasy and light-headed as soon as it happened.

I'm sure the squirrel felt worse.

I was driving back to work from lunch when out of the corner of my eye I saw a blur of fur running towards my vehicle. It's choice to cross six lanes of traffic was not a wise one. And soon I heard/felt the familiar thump-thump of doom.

As I drove on, I think I saw the squirrel bounding back the way it came... slower and possibly without a tail. If it survives, it will not make that mistake again!

Of course, I had to immediately call my sister and tell her what happened. "Dad would be so proud of you," she said. So I told my dad what happened. Indeed, he was proud of me... for not swerving or braking.

Growing up, one of our first lessons of the road was to never swerve or brake when you find yourself about to create a fresh batch of road kill (deers, elk and larger animals were the exception to the rule). His reason for the rule was that by swerving or suddenly braking, you could cause an accident or otherwise put yourself in peril. Therefore, it was better to send the small, woodland creature to the great free range in the sky.

The squirrel isn't my first road kill. And some people would be very happy to hear that I single-handedly took another offensive rodent off the streets. (My mom offered to get me a squirrel sticker for the door of my car.) My driving history is peppered with the deaths of a few other small furry and feathered creatures. I always found it gruesome.

But none of my stories are as gruesome as my father's famous dog-meets-trailer incident.

It happened sometime in the 1980s. My father, whom I should mention is a dog lover, was driving his truck and towing a large horse trailer through town. As he came upon a bus stop, a small dog unfortunately jumped into the path of his tires.

Unable to swerve or brake without causing harm to the horses in the trailer, my dad took a deep breath and...

thump-thump...

thump-thump.

Every tire on the passenger side of the truck and trailer (which had two axles) introduced itself to the poor little doggy.

My dad looked back in his mirror to see the dog's owner staring at the puddle of fur at the end of her leash.

Yes, folks. That's right. The dog was on a leash.

So hopefully this is a lesson to all. If your dog likes to bark at cars, make sure he's not barking at the front end of a truck towing a trailer. Otherwise, he might end up as the punchline of a story retold by a distinguished blonde-haired man with a twinkle in his eye.