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Thursday, October 13, 2005

Not a Chance. Mr. Squirrel didn't make it across the road today. I watched the car two cars ahead of mine hit it. By the time I approached, the animal's backside was unnaturally askew while at the same time the front of the animal clawed vainly on the asphalt -- its will to live willing it across the street -- its dilated eyes staring forward to the strip of green beyond. But to no avail. The crushed animal's backside would get it nowhere.

I swerved. And I certainly don't know why I swerved given that doing so did nothing more but prolong the agony of the animal. Had I met the same fate I would have
begged someone to run me over. The gravel truck behind me took care of matters for me. I have no idea if he aimed purposely or was obliviously sipping his Dunkin' Donuts coffee when he ran the squirrel over but suffice to say it was obliterated in an instance. Only the black crows will acknowledge the squirrel's existence for a while to come. They are smart birds, crows (when was the last time you saw crow roadkill?). When the rush hour traffic has subsided they will swoop and caw to rip the pieces of mushy intestines from the bowels of the squirrel. And that will be that. Is there another squirrel out there that will miss it?

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