Saturday, May 25, 2013

Dead Squirrels Tell No Tales

But girls who had to touch a dead squirrel yesterday do.

So I decided to walk both dogs around the neighborhood yesterday. My roommate is out of town, and they were driving me crazy in the house.

Petunia is a 40 lb Bassett Hound/English Coonhound mix.

Campbell is a probably 90 lb Black Lab mix (I stole this pic off my roommate's FB...Campbell doesn't do good at sitting still.)

So, to recap, I took 130 lbs of dog, both of whom love to pull on the leash and hate squirrels, out by myself. I'm not tiny, but I'm 5'3" and a far cry from stout. 

We get about 5 blocks in when they both stop. Nothing weird about that, since they both love smelling things. And then I hear Petunia snarl. And Campbell bark. And then a sort of squishy ripping sound. I turn around, because I've walked ahead of them...and see them ripping apart a dead squirrel. 

I thought, at first, that they had caught a squirrel. But live squirrels neither smell like that nor are quite that...stiff. I absolutely do not want them to 1) eat a dead squirrel, 2) eat a dead squirrel and then lick me, 3) eat a dead squirrel, lick each other, and then sit near me, or 4) bring the dead squirrel home with them. So, with Petunia in my left hand and Campbell in my right, on leashes, I tried to take the squirrel away. 

I tried to say, "DROP IT!" but that did nothing. 

I begged for them to "LEAVE IT!" but nothing. 

I tried to pull them away. They're big and strong and it didn't really take care of the fact that they each had tufts/body of squirrel in their mouths. 

So I did what I had to. I put Petunia's leash on my ankle and wrapped Campbell up as tight as I could get him. And then, stretched out on the sidewalk in the super rich part of my neighborhood with dogs on each side and cussin' up a storm, I grabbed the squirrel. 

I would like to say that, at this point, I was a real grownup about it. I'd like to say that I tossed the squirrel in the grass, said a tiny prayer for its tiny soul, and took the dogs home where I wiped them down and calmly washed my hands. I'd like to say that I did all of that. 

I screamed like a little girl, jumped around some, screamed some more, and ran home, with the dogs, who I immediately put in their crates while I took a shower. Then I brushed their teeth. And took a shot. And drank a beer. And took another shower. 

And then I watched tv and ate ice cream and remembered why I don't hunt/camp/do anything outdoors that requires touching dead things. 

These guys, however, were totally fine, if a little miffed that I didn't let them keep their prize. 

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