Here is the word of warning that this blog post is about the death of a squirrel at the hands of the house pooches, working in concert with one another. In this household, we do not grieve for the squirrels, who outnumber us considerably and who regularly prove to have destructive tendencies. (Just ask the neighbors to the south, whose neglected rental units have several squirrels’ nests residing in the walls of that ramshackle house.) We do not pretend that this is not a natural world in which we live, even if it's on a quaint quarter acre almost in the middle of downtown Winston-Salem.
It happened last Friday while I was gone for the day to Chapel Hill, to take in a homecoming activity for my UNC fraternity. Part of the kill was caught on camera, and then the stiffening little guy was ready for his final memorial portrait before the proper disposal was performed. Sumner was the primary executioner, but his success required the agile cornering and corralling offered by his sprightly sister. It's been about a year-and-a-half since he last expedited one of these annoying yard rats, and I suppose he is proud to have acquired Trophy No. 12.
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