Last evening at the very same moment my wife was hounding me to slow down a fuzzy grey ball of terror darted in front of my car [almost as if to say ‘ha! I told you to slow down!’]. The front of the vehicle went over the little guy with no harm done, and the then the rear left tire completely smushed it. I peered for a fraction of a second in the rear view mirror only to see it bloodied and crushed in the road. One of those half crushed organy road pizzas. Terrible in every sense of the word.
The worse part about it, this was the second such murder in two months. And for this tree-hugg’in dirt worshipper I am crushed - excuse the adjective. I had a bad night after that, and of course my wife had that smug little half frown half smile on her pouty face.
I told you to slow down, was the only thing she said.
My sentence is to construct any of an array of squirrel feeder for our back yard.
Poor little guy. Further more I’ll never pump my bb-gun to ten pumps again to scare them off. I swear. Only cardboard targets from now on.