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And if you think finding a dead squirrel isn't disturbing enough, try finding one that is still breathing. Which is a much bigger dilemma, because I'd hate for him to be suffering. What if he was still conscious, and just paralyzed? With flies crawling on him? That would be the worst. So I called the one guy who would know what to do, and that's my Uncle Roy, a certified cowboy. And he said the quickest way to put him out of his misery, if I'm worried about the little guy's well being, is to hold a shovel over his neck and then jump on the shovel. He said usually the head pops off, but it would be 100% painless for Roux's victim. Or, he said you can run over it with your car, but sometimes they pop. I knew I couldn't do either personally, so I had to enlist Alex's help. He pulled through, finishing the job in his corduroys and flip flops. And then we put the little squirrel in a ziploc and threw him in the trash. I would've given him a proper burial, believe you me, except that I feared one of the dogs would dig him up.
On a (slightly) brighter note, look how pretty Kinley's antibiotics are!
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That particular shade of red might just be a new favorite color.
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