It was a cold, dreary morning in September…. (ok, I lied. Its hot and sunny, but its more dramatic the first way.) Jackson had been outside all morning without coming and scratching on the window/door to be let in. I knew something was going on out in the backyard and I had a feeling what had happened. I was right. Jackson had caught his 12894th squirrel. (Probably his 5th to be exact). He’s running around the yard with it in his mouth filled with utter joy and pride. Well, I realize that the noise I thought was Jackson’s delight is actually the squirrel squeaking/squealing/shrieking. It was not yet dead. Paralyzed, broken, dying, but not yet dead. So Jackson drops it at my feet (for me to throw it, of course) and it starts writhing around. I almost peed myself out of fright, by the way. I realize I have to do something about this because Jackson cannot play with a squirrel/eat the squirrel.
So. I had to kill it. With a shovel. It was awful. Awful!
Then I had to get it on the shovel- while Jackson is freaking out and barking at me for taking his new toy- and get rid of it. So since we have a ditch area behind our fence between our yard and the neighbor’s yard, I decided it was logical to throw it over the fence into the ditch. But… I overshot and am 99.999999% sure its now in the neighbor’s yard. Sorry about that dear neighbor I have never met. Truly, I am.
So, who feels sorry for me?! Anyone?!