I love squirrels. Of course, you already know this (and if you didn't know, you have no business reading this weblog). One of my greatest fears in the world is that I will kill one.

Squirrels- quite a few of them- die on a daily basis. Most of them meet their fate from some passing motorist. I currently live in a town where 3.5 squirrels are run over each day. (Whenever I see one, I cross myself and then tell myself that it wasn't really a squirrel, just a furry flattened pine cone.)

Naturally, I am very cautious when I am behind the wheel. Pedestrians better watch out (don't think I won't hit you if you don't look to see what's coming) but squirrels have my pity. So today when I noticed a little furry creature bolting out in front of my car-- just as I was accelerating-- I almost panicked. I hit the brakes, of course, but for a moment, I really thought I had killed the poor creature. Then I saw his furry tail skidaddling toward a nearby tree on the other side of the road.

I rolled down the window and chided him for being so irresponsible, and then I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Whenever I think that life is horrible, I am comforted by the fact that I have never allowed a squirrel to perish beneath my tires.

DO NOT leave comments on this post about how you have killed a squirrel before. I don't want to hear about it. Not that you would, but I just wanted to warn you.