A Squirrels Final Farewell

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Every morning I head down into the garden, coffee in hand, and dog next to me. I take a look to make sure the pear tree I planted in memory of my dad is still alive, and then enjoy the morning sun while I drink my coffee.

This morning I was on the daily routine, when we found a half-eaten squirrel.

Luckily BeeBee, our dog, isn’t really interested in half-dead animals, and wandered off. But I, for some reason that I still don’t understand, stood there looking at it.

I think it was a squirrel we saw yesterday that looked ill. It was moving very slowly and clearly got caught by the neighbours cat.

We’ve only been living in the countryside for a few months, and before then I’d have given it a wide berth and waited for the road sweep to pick it up.

But a few months back, I was enjoying my morning stroll around the garden, to find a dozen dead rooks.

Apparently they fight each other in the trees and the losers get kicked out of the nests. Dunno if that’s true or not, but that’s what I’ve been told.

Anyhoo… I got a bin bag, and a spade, and shovelled them into it. Which is what I’m going to do with the dead squirrel.

What are the other options?

It’s going to lie in the garden and slowly rot, or I have to go and pick it up.

Only two choices.

One of them means that Holly will never go near that bit of the garden, and the other means she’ll use the garden in full and enjoy it.

And that’s the thing. We all have to do things we don’t want to do. But if you just get your head down, do them and move on, we always gain from it.

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Michael

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