The hound and I were returning from the woods today and I spied a young squirrel in some distress on the side of the road. He had his head between his paws, was laying on his stomach and was breathing with difficulty. As I neared him, I saw that he was covered in flies- usually a sign that the animal is already dead. The squirrel was breathing though. The hound decided to be an opportunist and nudged the squirrel with his nose at which point the squirrel, as if by magic, ran away. I realised the squirrel was indeed seriously hurt as he stopped halfway across the road, unable to move an inch. The flies returned to nest all over the poor thing and I felt compelled to do something. I searched out the gardener I know nearby and asked to borrow his spade. My intention was to put the squirrel out of his misery. The thought of being devoured alive by flies seemed a fate worse than death, after all. As the squirrel saw me coming with the spade in hand, he mustered all his strength and ran as fast as he could, disappearing for good into the woods. I decided to abandon my murderous task. On my way home, I encountered another neighbour who asked what I had been up to. I told him the story of the squirrel. He began to laugh heartily. "Of course the squirrel ran away, you silly moo! He saw you coming with the spade of death. I'm dying of cancer, should I put be put out my misery too?"
There you are, dear readers, more proof that I know absolutely nothing.
This photo is not of the said squirrel but one that met an untimely end in a car crash several moons ago.
Photo copyright SvD.