"Oops, [they] did it again."Lou and Ol killed another squirrel.
If you remember (and I am faaaaaar too lazy to go back in my posts and link to the specific rodent-killing post) Louie and Oliver ended a squirrel's life last year.
They did it again, today.
I was on the phone with Mom, talking about the virtues of the movie "Cadillac Records," and, from outside, I heard and thought Louie tearing like a motherfucker across the backyard, towards the big-assed oak tree. I thought to myself, This can't be good. And it wasn't.
I got out of my chair and looked out the back window. Yep. Two dogs. Near tree. Heads down. Gray-yellow-brownish lump at their noses.
"Mom," I said, "I gotta go. I think Lou and Oliver just killed a squirrel."
"Okay, honey," she said. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Mom. Very much. Bye."
"Bye," she said.
I walked out the side door to the back yard and called the dogs off. Lou looked at me sheepishly and slumbered over to me. Oliver jogged over, panting Grin. "Inside," I said.
They went inside.
I walked over to the poor rodent. The squirrel's sides were spasming. His heart was in "Adjust-mode." He was dying; his back was busted.
"Shit, man," I said. "What the fuck?"
I was thinking: How do squirrels get themselves in these positions? Are some of them slow? Are they drunk? Are they filled with hubris, thinking that they can take on a Boxer/Pitty and a fucking Beagle?! What?! Why?!
Anyway. Like I said, Sam the Squirrel was breathing...barely. His sides flared out, intermittently. He was cooked. His mouth held that lax I'm-ready-for-Jesus look. Fuck. Okay. I'd done it before.
I went to the shed and pawed through the digging implements for a sharp-edged spade. I couldn't find one. I selected a pointy shovel, instead. With enough downward thrust, I am confident that I could break a squirrel's neck--thus ending his misery--with a fucking spatula.
Shovel in hand, I strode back to the tree. The little guy was still kicking, his sides bellowing shallowly. "Sorry, kid," I said, as I lined the point of the shovel up with his neck. "Sorry."
I'm not a fan of seeing jauntily-necked squirrels. I've seen them twice, now--through my own doing.
I wish I had not had to do what I needed to do. But.... I needed to.
Down went the shovel-head and out went Sam. At first I thought I'd misjudged and, instead of breaking his neck, crushed his skull. No. The aim was true. He wasn't respirating shallowly any longer.
I'd told Meegie that I was just going to throw him in the trash; and I'd asked for two plastic bags: one to pick him up and one in which he'd be deposited. No good.
I just couldn't do it. How the fuck am I going to throw away a being who'd asked for no ill-will, who'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? No way. No garbage-dumping, here.
I used the deadly shovel to also dig Sam's grave. I went not as deep as the grave of the last last squirrel casualty; this time, I encountered roots and said, basically, enough is enough. I wrapped Sam in a plastic Meijer's bag and snugged it tight, popping holes in for ease of double-bagging. Then another Meijer's bag was secured around the first--hopefully--quelling yon uber-death-smell (to dogs' noses).
***
Dogs are wonderful, as are kitty-cats. They both, however, have prey drives. Here is hoping that Lou does not see his housemates--Cutie Pie and Mister Bubbles--as prey. 'Cause they ain't gonna make it. Lou's good. He's a beautiful, lovely, sweet dog, but he's got a prey drive in him.
:-
11 comments:
What a day. Bless your heart. My dog would love to catch a squirrel, and I spend most of my time trying to thwart this goal of hers. I think I'd lose my mind if she actually mauled one.
Well, Sassy, you just gotta look at it as Nature's Way. It sucks, but, as "they" say, "Dog's will be dogs; whatta ya gonna do?"
I'm amazed at what you capture in your prose (and sorry for your loss).
I once did the northern Michigan thing as a youth ... squirrel hunting with a license. Shot one off a tree. Actually, it took 3 shots, the first nicked him and he froze to the trunk. 2 more before he relinquished. It made me sick to see what I'd done. He was beautiful in brown and grey. Or she? Pregnant? I dunno. But dead, and by my hand. I swore never again and I think it sits somewhere at the bottom of my non-violence tendendcies. I have very little of the prey-drive left in me.
I'm surprised they relinquished it so easily! Don't feel bad if future squirrels end up in the dumpster - you only have so much yard :)
Jeez. Kobe's big. He ambles. I have no faith in his ability to actually catch things, and I think he knows he can't either. He just bounces around until the critters fly/run away.
Marty, however, will one day catch one of these fat, spoiled, self-assured pigeons that tease him at every turn. And then I will have to dip him in bleach. Because pigeons are gross.
that had to have been really hard to do what you had to do (strange grammatical sentence, but i couldn't think of any other way to phrase it). i'm glad you found a place to bury it. it seems like the least you could do as proxy for the dogs. it does seem like the squirrels would know better; but judging by the ones by the side of the road, they have a hard time avoiding 4 wheels and 4 legs sometimes. hope this is the last one you have to deal with.
Awww, you poor thing. Your so sweet. My dog loves to kill skunks in the yard. Will you come over and bury them for me :( I hope your pups knock it off. That's awful to have to put something out of its misery
It's odd how we pause and feel that tug in our heart for the death of an animal. I've driven past roadkill before without a second thought, but something about the animal still being alive, about you being there to witness its last moments is just...*shudder*
I stepped on a mouse once when I was about 8 or so. I was playing in my back yard and felt a small crunch under one of my shoes. It was still alive but blood was gushing out its mouth and it died a few moments later. I spent the rest of the afternoon crying in my room.
Gumster: Yeah, I think it's that whole "defenseless animal" thing that tugs at me. :-)
Miss Meliss: Yeah, I was a little surprised, too. I mean, the little guy was still alive--you'd think they'd want to finish him off. Then again, maybe it's just the thrill of the hunt/capture.
Caleal: I have a cousin who's a pigeon, and it makes me sad to hear you say that you think she's "gross." :`(
BooBoo: That kinda was a grammatically-strange sentence. :-P But I knew what you meant to say. It was not *all* that tough to do--I hate to see living breathing things suffering. Of course, I'm no Mother Theresa--no one likes to see suffering. But I'll be damned if I let an animal slooooooooowly die right in front of me, if I have the means (and the will) to expediate the process.
I draw the line at squirrels, Mommy-Girl--no skunks! ;-) But, yeah, I'd end its life, too, if it became apparent that that would be the most humane thing to do.
I'm sorry you felt sad about it, Frank. My question to you (and the now-long-gone mouse) is: how the hell did it let itself get stepped on?! I thought animals were supposed to be lightning-quick! (Excluding, of course, three-toed sloths.) Maybe Darwin was balls-on correct.
Ah, you do what you have to do. I understand, completely. Having had many cats in my life, I've had to dispatch a couple of mortally-injured birds that were laid at my feet. The cats did what they were built to do, and they brought them to me as if I'd love them for doing it, so you pet the cat, give it a non-living treat, and send the bird into the hereafter, hoping you'll be forgiven. And you will; I firmly believe that.
Oh, yeah, Suldog. I have no doubt that what i did was right. In fact, I think either Petey or Jesus or the Big Guy would/will give me a gold star for taking the kid out of his misery and pain.
Peace.
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