Monday, June 06, 2011

The JFK Assasination

I've been joking that I'm going to kill the next squirrel I catch. Keeping with the tradition, the next one is going to be named after John F Kennedy, and we all know what happened to him.

Truth is, I was only joking. I wasn't going to kill him. I was going to take him for a little ride and let him go, just like all the others.

But I killed JFK.
Catching him was easy. After watering the front garden, I saw three squirrels messing around in my yard, two in one tree and the other on this tree stump I have sitting out there.

So I set the trap, and in minutes, JFK was sniffing it out. I watched him for a while, hoping I'd get to see him set it, but he hopped back into the tree. When I came back in about fifteen minutes, he was in the trap, scratching at the wire, chittering and hissing at me.

Score! I put him in the back of my truck and took his portrait. Then I went and did other things.

When I came back out to leave for work, I noticed he wasn't moving. Sometimes, usually after a long drive, the squirrels will calm down, curl up into a little ball, and lay still, hibernating almost. I tapped the cage to wake him up, but he didn't move. I turned on the hose and sprayed him right in the eye, but he didn't even blink.

He was dead. He had been in the trap for less than two hours.

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