Yesterday, I murdered a squirrel. Also, just now, it took me about 7 tries, and finally giving up and control-clicking the word to actually be able to spell squirrel. It started with squirell, and went to squiril, and up to 5 other moronic renditions including, but not limited to squrill, and squirril.
It was totally an accident, but I felt, on a scale from 1 to I-just-lied-to-my-grandmother-and-called-her-a-whore guilty, probably around a 5. It was weird, because my friend and I had been having conversations about squirrels earlier. It's like our topic of conversation was a mental tractor beam that just drew that little guy right in.
While driving up the canyon to go mountain biking, I was noticing an inordinate amount of squirrel activity. Like, they were running all over the place. I mentioned out loud to my friend, "There sure are a lot of trail beavers running around today." Because that is what I tend to call small rodent like creatures that run around the wilderness with large tails. They were running around with such unusual ubiquity, that I almost ran over one twice on my bike. Which would be quite a feat. A sad, sad feat.
So, after the ride, as I was transitioning from I-215 to I-80 west bound, suddenly a tiny little trail beaver darted in front of my car, about 5 seconds away. I immediately yelled, "No...NO! Run little trail beaver! Run for your life! No no NO NO WATCHOUT!" At which point, the trail beaver was thoroughly ground into oblivion, right beneath Javier's 2 left wheels. I couldn't help but bemoan the fate of the poor little trail beaver, who tried so frantically, during the last precious moments of his tiny life, to figure out just what the hell he was doing on that freeway. It was like watching frogger. He ran in the road, juked left, then right, then left then right the left then left then under my tires. All that remains of that majestic trail beaver, is viscera and fur, stuck to the freeway. A lousy, albeit quick way to go.
As to my knowledge, that is the only creature from the mammal section of the animal kingdom that I have ever murdered with my car. I came damn close to running over a goose once. I think that little pre-roadkill conversation I had with myself was a little different.
"Wtf, is that a goose? Get out of the road, you goose! Go get sucked into a plane engine and die with a little dignity, if that's what you are trying to do here." What an embarrassing way to go, for a goose.
Javier is just broken up over the whole thing. He refused to run the air conditioning the rest of the way home. Which I get. Those were HIS tires who sent that squirrel to a furry hell. Which is what I told him.
"Hey little guy. Don't fret. That squirrel was probably a real asshole. And may be in hell."
But deep down, I knew the truth.