So I told you all about the emotionally scaring experience with the first dead squirrel so that you would understand how we felt when just this week we found another dead squirrel in our yard. And while we were five years and 500 miles from the original scene of the crime the memory is fresh.
I found this squirrel in much the same way that I had found the first one, through very excited sniffing by the dog. There it was, stiff posture, glassy eyes, and a decided lack of movement. My first thought of course was “you’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me!” But I took the dog in and let the husband know- you could see the fear in his eyes. “Is it really dead?” he asked. “Are you sure it’s dead? Did you poke it with a stick?”
What. The. Fuck? “No I did not poke it with a stick because we are not in the movie Stand by Me.” I would have continued but I could see that the husband was having a flashback. So I went back into the yard and pretended to poke the thing with a stick (because seriously I am not poking a dead squirrel with a stick) so that the husband would be satisfied. But now we are in another conundrum- because while Illinois Animal Control refused to come get a dead squirrel- we now live in West Virginia, I don’t even know if they have animal control here because in this state you better have damn good reason for asking someone to help you with a random wild animal- like said animal chewed off your hands- both of them – and then knocked out your teeth and then broke both of your legs. Because I think if I tried calling animal control the whole but I’m a girl thing would not work here in the mountain state. They’d be like: “Uh lady-what kind of a pussy are you that you can’t pick up a dead squirrel? Just pick it up and give it to one of your neighbors because I am sure they have a recipe for squirrel stew that you don’t because you’re obviously not from here.” Seriously these people are tough.
So the husband comes up with a wonderfully brilliant plan, which disposes of the body and keeps him far away, leave it and let the raccoons have it. Seriously, that is exactly what he said. He rightly took my look as a direct attack on his manhood because then he suggested that we just let the thing decompose because it would just be good compost for the soil. That one made me laugh until it was dark and the discussion was tabled until the morning- while the husband prayed desperately for some raccoons to come deal with the thing before he had to get his hands dirty. And yes his hands because again I am not touching a dead squirrel- I don’t care what anyone says or what the animal control people think of me- I am not Ellie Clampett.
The morning dawned bright without a raccoon in sight but with an increase in flies buzzing around a decomposing squirrel in the yard. So the husband finally manned up and went outside to deal with the decomposing squirrel that, this time, did not get a name. But I will tell you he approached that thing very gingerly and he did poke it with a stick first- but I think this has taken it’s toll on him emotionally. Yesterday he told me that some other squirrel was giving him an accusatory look while he was out with the dog.
Me: How does a squirrel give one “a look?”
The Husband: Well he came down the tree and saw where the body used to be and then stared at me, like a really long time. It was like he was judging me- like I killed his friend or something.
Me: Wow, I’ve never been judged by a squirrel before- do you think he’s plotting?
The Husband: Keep laughing- I told him you did it.
And then this morning the squirrel took down the birdfeeder- and I have no idea how- but it knew I was watching and didn’t care. Maybe we should be very careful, I guess these West Virginia squirrels really hold a grudge.