Gah, what a weird night. I left my Pop’s house the other night just before dark, and as I was crossing the railroad tracks, I saw a car parked in the gravel by the road with two women standing outside of it. One was on a cell phone, and they looked distressed. I made the ‘ok’ motion with my hand and the one not attached to the phone shrugged and pointed down to the ditch. She didn’t wave me on, so I pulled in to check up on them.
I get out and say, “Can I help you ladies?” The other hung up and turned to me. “There’s a squirrel laying over there in the grass. I think he’s injured real bad.” Oh. I see. Good thing I pulled over for you. Sigh.
I told her to call the police or fire department or something if she was so worried about it, and turned to get back in the Jeep, where Callie waited patiently. “I already did! They said I’d have to take it to an animal hospital!” Bingo. So take it! “But he’ll bite me!” Uh, no, not in that condition, he won’t. So I grabbed a golf towel out of the Jeep (I don’t golf) and pitched it to her. Here, wrap it up in this. “Oh, will you take it to the animal hospital?” No. I’m here with my daughter. And someone (preferrably not the driver) must hold the squirrel. You may keep the towel and take it yourself if you like. Anyway, long story short, I went over to pick the squirrel up in the towel for the woman. And it darted off over under her car.
There, see? He’s just fine. You ladies have a good night. And I headed (oh, for you guys wondering right now, no they weren’t hot) back to the Jeep. As I was opening the door, the little bastard ran across the rocks and up under my car. Up under my car. Up under. My car. On top of the back axle. I pitched rocks and splashed water at it trying to get it out, but he just disappeared up there, on top of my gas tank. Well, after driving around a little circle and slamming on brakes and bouncing on the bumper, I couldn’t get him out. So I gave up. I pulled back onto the road and drove home. Over the bridge, on the highway, across the lake, down the road and across the tollway all the way to Spaceville, and pulled into my driveway where Stout was waiting for me.
I said, “You’re not going to believe this shit.” And I told him the story. Then he said, pointing his cigarette at the car, “Well, I might indeed.” I looked under the Jeep, and there looking back at me was the son of a bitch squirrel. I snagged a picture with my phone before I reached under to swoop him out. I was going to toss him in the neighbor’s yard or something, but he popped off and shot across the driveway, then ran up onto a fence and disappeared.
If you see a squirrel here around my house that looks like he’s new to the neighborhood, catch his ass and tell him I want to talk to him. He owes me 23 miles of fare for taxiing his ass to a new city.