I'm Sorry, Mr. Squirrel

Just call me the bringer of death.

I ran over a squirrel today. First time I've ever done that, and I feel awful. Up until now, I've managed to successfully avoid turning anything into roadkill, but today the squirrel's number was up. I was heading west on Curtis Road, and I was approaching the stop sign on Mattis, so I was starting to slow down. I noticed something in the road, but the sun was in my eyes so I couldn't quite see. When I got close enough to realize it was a squirrel, it was too late. A quick check of my rear view mirror showed a car behind me, so stomping all the way down on the brake was not an option. I'm not going to risk someone rear-ending my car (or in this case, Mike's car, sorry babe) for a cute fuzzy nut loving squirrel. He was frozen and trying to decide which way to go, and I pulled slightly to the right, hoping he would dart to the left or stay still. The sickening THUD I heard told me that that plan didn't work, and he ran the wrong way.

All the way home I was picturing the front tire as an abbatoir. I was so sure that every person I passed going the opposite direction would see squirrel guts painted all over the front of the car. I was also convinced that I was leaving a bloody tire track for someone to follow. When I got home I looked for gore and thankfully there was none. In fact, the tire and front looked fairly clean. So maybe I ran over his tail and he's fine, just hurt. But probably not.

I'm sorry, Mr. Squirrel.