Road kill

Road kill is a fact of life for those of us who drive narrow, twisty roads that border woods and fields.

When I first moved here I cringed at carrion, and closed my eyes. 

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Then ground hogs marauded through my garden like swooping Vikings. I craved revenge.  I grunted with satisfaction every time I saw one lifeless beside the road. At least that one won't despoil anymore green beans. 

For the same reason, I'm tempted to play "chicken" with the bunnies pillaging my vegetables and flowers.  I cheer for Mr. Mac Gregor against Peter Cottontail.

Since a pesky squirrel pulled off a home invasion last year, we've trapped and released him three times. We discussed shooting him but we're unreliable with firearms and squeamish besides. 

Today I spied a mysterious erect wisp rising straight up from the pavement. My brain fumbled to identify the waving plume until I got closer. It wasn't a feather, but a tail. Maybe that smacked flat squirrel kyarn was our pest.

 I laughed out loud.