Yesterday was perfect. My family and I hosted our annual Fourth of July bash at our house where many of our friends and family came to celebrate our nation’s birthday with a massive amount of food (what else) and alcohol. However, my post is not going to be about the party, but rather an unfortunate event that occurred prior to its start.
Let me explain. WARNING: this might not be the most pleasant of posts about animals. Proceed if you dare.
BF had driven in town on Tuesday to spend the Fourth of July with me. Such a doll. Unfortunately, he had forgotten his toiletry bag on his bathroom counter at home and had no contact solution, toothbrush or toothpaste. Being the fabulous girlfriend 😉 that I am I searched our house for travel size toiletries, however, we didn’t have any. So, I offered to take him to CVS.
He wanted to take his car to get it washed, so I told him to hold on while I grabbed something from mine. As I walked down the driveway, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.
A helpless squirrel. I was like, “OMG! BF, there’s a dead squirrel in the driveway!”. I moved closer to take a better look and to my surprise I saw he was still breathing! He wasn’t moving at all and was in a very uncomfortable looking position. I figured he had fallen from the tree and stunned himself or broke his neck and was now paralyzed.
BF immediately said, “Do you have a shovel?” Coming from a manly man like him, I wasn’t surprised he said that. He figured he’d put it out of his misery by swift decapitation. But NO! A shovel?! The poor thing was still alive. I was not going to let him do that! I called up to my father who agreed with me, but for different reasons. He didn’t want blood all over the driveway.
He then disappeared and came back with a plastic bag. “I’m going to pick it up by its tail and swing it in the bag. We are going to seal it up and throw it in the trash can. He’ll just suffocate.” This is getting to be too much. I began my little girl beg. “Guys! It is still alive. We can’t kill it. Are y’all crazy?! It’s gonna get up, I swear. See! It’s moving. IT’S MOVING!”
As BF rolled his eyes for the fifth time, Dad agreed to let it live for the time being. He told us to go run our errands and when we came back, if it hadn’t left, we’ll call neighborhood security and have them pick it up and deal with it.
DEAL! The little guy was going to make it, I just knew it.
We come back about 35 minutes later, and to my joy, the little man had managed to move a significant amount and was now spread eagle in the middle of the driveway. However, his injury became clear at this point. He had at least one obvious broken leg. He wasn’t going to be able to survive with broken bones out there in the wild of our neighborhood.
I squatted down next to the struggling squirrel, who was now trying to heave himself to the side of the driveway. I figured that if I was going to watch him die, I’d make sure he knew he wasn’t alone. I felt it was the Christian thing to do. So, I made eye contact with the suffering creature for a while. Just me and him and the warm summer breeze blowing around us… and the sound of BF tapping his foot waiting for me to get over it and go inside. It was peaceful. Then, I got bored and BF and I went inside.
Dad then called security, and the creature was scooped up within minutes. Regardless of the outcome, the situation reminded me of survival of the fittest. Animals are pretty much screwed if they break any bone or get any disease. They are dead creatures walking.
Nature. Amazing, isn’t it?