The Squirrel Returns

And, the squirrel saga continues! The day after the murder (Tuesday), I took the dogs on a long walk and then went to the dog park. I was a bit frazzled when I arrived at the dog park. First, I had been walking them while talking on my phone to a friend whom I went to college with. Her wedding was supposed to be November 4th, but had to be rescheduled to October 29th. Well, I'm the Maid of Honor/only bridesmaid, and this created a major scheduling problem, as I'm a bridesmaid in my brother Teddy's wedding on the 29th. While chatting with her on the phone both dogs pooped... so I had to bend down to pick it up. So here I am, tottering (tottering because I had dislocated my hip hours earlier) down the W&OD trail, trying to hold the leashes of two extremely hyper dogs (hence why we were headed to the park!), my phone wedged against my ear talking about wedding stuff, and three bags of dog poop.

Of course, with terrible single-girl luck, this is the time when two hot cyclists peddle by, shirtless, with 6-pack abs, and golden tanned skin. At which point, I drop my poop bag dispenser... and then, the hotter of the two yells, "Cutest Goldens ever!" And I start blushing...

So fast forward a few hundred yards, we're in the dog park, I'm still discussing wedding logistics with the bride, and the last thing on my mind was the squirrel carcass looming somewhere in the shadows. My dogs immediatly find their prize from the previous outing, and I have no other option but to pick it up and throw it away.

This was no small squirrel, and it was now infested with maggots and covered in flags, far too big and gross to use a poop bag to pick it up with. I find two grocery bags and a very long stick (probably 4-feet or so). Set bag one on the ground. Get the stick under the squirrel, and lift it about a foot off the ground when, of course, it falls off the stick. Damn it. I find a second stick, wedge the first under the squirrel, use the other stick to hold the squirrel on, giant chopsticks, if you will, a look of disgust plastered on my face, while I try to put the squirrel in a bag. It doesn't work, I'm going to have to get closer. Eww.


I wiggle my hands down the stick so now the squirrel is about 18 inches from me. Try to get it in the bag, still can't, and give up and drop the squirrel on top of bag one. Next, I have to try to get the squirrel on a bag into another bag so i can throw it away.


I can only imagine what the other dog owners patronizing the park must have been thinking. Girl with a look of pure terror on her face, two golden retrievers running amok, a carcass on a stick, sweat dripping down my forehead, hair stuck to my face, a cell phone wedged between my shoulder and my ear... when a mosquito flies up my running skirt and bites me on the back of my thigh. I yelp in pain, drop the call, finish bagging the squirrel.



The whole thing was just too humorous not to photograph, but I wasn't about to take, nor post, a picture of a dead animal on my blog. So here is my hand, complete with boarding school class ring, carrying a dead squirrel to the trash can. Oh what a wonderful life...