I killed a squirrel this morning. I didn’t mean to. The little guys just seem to zig when they should zag, and that is how they fall out of trees and, as in my case, get hit by my car.
I was headed to an important (recreational, too) early morning meeting, and took the main interstate to get there. As I got into the area where the speed limit went up and I was accelerating, a squirrel appeared from the median to my left and started to cross despite the lack of trees. As squirrels are wont to do, he doubled back toward the median. Then he tripled back into me. I heard the small thump and spotted the body in my wake.
I did feel terrible. Never happened before in my life.
“Oh forgive me God,” I said, looking heavenward.
I never did understand the sport of hunting. I even avoid stepping on ants. Look out for and be looked out for is my motto.
I’m sure there are a jillion squirrels in the great beyond, all of whom have fallen out of trees, got zapped from chewing on live wires or trying to play chicken with vehicles. If they have peanuts in Heaven, I’ll cop a bag from Saint Peter on the way in. If I wind up in the other place, I guess they’ll be roasted nuts and cost my soul, but either way it’ll be worth it if I meet up with that unfortunate creature and can make amends.
*(As in, “Boris darling, we’ll get moose and squirrel.”)
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