Dear Squirrels

I just want to say… for the record, I was not the one who said this. I will not say who either.

You get onto one of those cool long highways, the one’s that stretch out for a few miles where you can go fast. It’s great, you meet up with a few other cars who are going just as fast. They weave in and out of the lanes. There isn’t much traffic and you tag along at high speeds of 70-90. They’re the wolfpack.

There’s a couple slow pokes who believe they’ve got the balls to keep up. But they don’t. They’re just extra baggage that slows you down. You ditch them for your wolfpack. And everything is groovy. You’ve been going at this for a while.

Until… a lone squirrel is sitting at the edge of the highway. He looks like he’s uncertain. Don’t do it. This isn’t going to be a good outcome. Should you slow down? Should you speed up? The squirrel is obviously trying to do math and seriously losing.

He takes the challenge.

And you feel that awful bump under your back tire as you misjudged his actions. Damn. Shit. Fuck. You wince at the awful realization that you’re an animal killer (not really) but you can’t do much of anything. Your wolfpack is gaining ground but you don’t care about that now. There’s a sick feeling in your stomach and you’re not sure exactly what to do.

You’re thinking about it and shake your head, trying to focus on something else. Your passenger half-smiles, feeling the same way. You keep both hands on the wheel and an extra eye out for any more daring animals.

“Oh man, that was terrible.”

Your passenger half nods and then shrugs, “Maybe he shouldn’t have tried the 50-yard-dash.”


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