Sweat and Dead Squirrel

Like most things in life, the unexpected often leads to deep thought and profound insights. So it was on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The skies were crystal clear cobalt blue. A gentle breeze massaged by face and spirits as I exited my car, parked in orderly fashion at the road’s edge.

 

The freshly sealed driveway, only 24 hours old, provided assurance that life was good. There’s something about the jet black surface glistening without a blemish. It seems to speak of pride, prosperity and stability. As I walk along its gleaming surface I glance below to see the half hidden cracks and small holes. I immediately take the long view.

 

What’s that? The squirrel dares to recline on my newly sealed driveway? I march resolutely forward. The rat like creature lays motionless as I approach. His legs are spread out in a pose of determined, deep sleep. I approached more slowly lest he suddenly arouse and leap at my throat to exact revenge. I have successfully blocked his access to the bird feeders with a series of baffles, so I could see his point. Stomping on the ground he remains motionless.

 

Careful visual examination revealed no obvious cause of death. I speculate about this for a moment. Maybe he had a careless fall from the high branch above while eating his snack? Maybe he had a heart attack quickened by a bad diet of high cholesterol trash? Maybe he had cancer and decided to end it all in one glorious leap?

 

Other thoughts pour into my mind. Do squirrels have funerals? Where are his loved ones? Did they gather around earlier to say a few kind words? Maybe he was the black sheep of the family and he was shunned. He may have given up nuts in favor of kale and spinach. What’s with animals anyway? They must die at the usual rate yet we never see the bodies unless they are deposited on our driveways.

 

I procure my trusty shovel and walk slowly to the back yard. I contemplate Henry’s future. Yes, I did name him. It’s the least I can do for this poor creature. He was once my enemy, now I have named him and I will soon send him to his maker. Hmm. Curious how he is more appreciated dead than alive. Oh well, I shout “Farewell Henry” as I fling him into the woods beyond. I anticipated briefly the fact that maggots will soon devour him to a simple skeleton. Disturbed by these thoughts I turn with my shovel to address the encroaching woods.

 

Over the past few years weeds and small trees have dared to enter my lawn and sanctuary. For the next hour battle ensued- man vs. nature. As I scanned the yard after my strenuous but successful efforts, I retire inside. My wife inquires, “What’s that smell?” I reply, “Sweat and dead squirrel”. No reply, she knows me.