Chipmunks, flapping

Friends: don’t you just hate when you finally pour yourself a glass of wine after a long day, sit down for a nice sip and then boom – carnage? I know I do. Recently I was forced to answer some hard questions regarding the soul of a chipmunk as well as the strength of my character and I did not like it, not one bit.

My fluffernutter of a pooch had mistaken a chipmunk for her tennis ball, or perhaps a tiny remote control vehicle (I can’t be the only one that thinks they look like little RC cars racing around with their tails sticking up like they do).  I had quite the gut reaction of swear-screaming – sweaming, if you will – and banging violently on the window until fluffbutt realized her mistake and placed the chip back on the ground.

jedi chips
How could she resist playing?  Also please watch this video because it’s awesome.

I knew I had to get to that very still rodent before one of my precious angels stumbled upon it and tried to skin it for its pelt.  But a terrible thought entered my mind: what if it was not all the way dead but merely very badly injured, seizing and foaming at the mouth? If so I would have to end its misery. With what? A shovel, the broken-off end of my wine glass, what?! I settled on bringing it to the driveway and running it over with the car if need be. Effective, yet indirect.  I am a lady who hasn’t intentionally killed any living being in probably 15 years and did not want to start.*

Well, let me tell you how simultaneously relieved and horrified I was to find that the little guy was all the way dead. I had almost brought shame upon my name with cowardice in the face of a mercy killing, AND realized that I have a dog that apparently kills innocent chipmunks. I put the body in the bin part of the poop scoop, took a step toward the woods and tossed.

That little sucker flew about three feet and then got caught up in a low, leafless branch of a bush. He was draped over the branch much like a washcloth draped over a clothesline to dry.  The chipmunk was actually flapping in the wind at me; just hanging around, blowin’ in the wind.

Because I sensibly threw him in the same direction that I throw a large amount of dog crap, I couldn’t just step into the woods in my flip flops and knock him off the branch. I was reduced to teetering on the rock wall, stretching my arm holding the scoop thingy as far as I could and trying to untangle the dangling chip from the branch while sweaming voraciously. After a full minute he fell down into a large pile of excrement, arms and legs splayed out in all directions; lifeless eyes staring directly at me.

All in all, my dog and I were both to blame. For even though she caused the death I disrespected the body and revealed one of the myriad ways my inner weakness rules me. I also blame Fisher Price for making the adorable Woodseys part of my childhood, therefore giving chipmunks a soft spot for all eternity (yes I still have the book and read it to my kids).

woodse7
Anthropomorphized for 80’s kids

 

*Ok, ok, I kill ants, flies and ticks. Ants, flies and ticks can go f*@k themselves.

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