Squirrel on a fence.
I spot the squirrel when I open the back door, recognize the symptoms; I will have to deal with it. Its head is tucked into a corner of the steps, body huddled in the grass. No movement but the heaving of its sides. No signs of injury. Not newborn, not full grown, of this year’s litter. A twinge of sadness—or perhaps dread—ripples through me.
We have a video visit with Pilar, after which I look again, don’t see it. Perhaps the poor thing went to die somewhere else? I discover it had crawled to curl inside the stones bordering the clematis, a sheltered sepulcher. The heaving breath gone. I cannot face the task, work on my essay, the onerous duty nagging at my mind. A shovel, rubber gloves. I hoist the already stiff little body to the alley hole I dug.
I don’t like squirrels. They destroy gardens, damage trees, find stale bagels in the trash and drop them half-eaten into my lilies. I don’t like them, but did not want one to die, at the spring of its life, in my yard. Up close, it has perfectly round little ears, front paws hugged to its chest, eyes closed as if in sleep, the innocent sleep, balm of hurt minds. I don’t like squirrels but this one’s death was in my path. And that’s how life goes.
Your writing prompt, should you choose to accept it: write about something that has chanced across your road; or write about the death of an animal, with or without quotes from Macbeth.
Gerri and I have been watching a squirrel all summer, a small one that runs on three legs, the right front foot tucked up and the left hind leg splayed awkwardly, maybe the result of an encounter with a car. We don’t know how, but that little squirrel can still somehow run and climb, eating sunflower seed the birds drop and whatever else it finds. We hadn’t seen it for about a week, but yesterday saw it again and cheered. We wonder how or if it will make it through the winter, but for now…
You have to root for those who overcome such odds!
If they didn’t just eat the biggest, almost ripe ones, it might not be so maddening.
The way they abandon them just a few feet from the plant, half eaten, is infuriating,
as if they aren’t worth finishing or taking home.
I’m waiting to see if the cayenne pepper bath works.
Report back on that cayenne pepper bath, please.
I make a solution of hot pepper sauce and water and spray it on squash and melon. I’ve also rubbed straight pepper sauce on those plants. Both seem to work.
Thanks, Bob! Deb, did you see this?