Five Routine Minutes: Why There Won’t Ever Be Zombie Hawks

I made a quick trip to visit my son on campus last week.

We were walking toward his dorm and saw something a little startling. A squirrel. Well, not so much a squirrel, as a squirrel’s head. Nothing more.

The squirrel had a shocked look on his face.

I reacted as you might expect:

The squirrel looked like he had been saying the same thing at the moment he went to squirrel heaven.

My son had an idea of what had happened.

He majors in environmental stuff and since high school he’s worked at a rehab center for birds of prey. I feel sure he knew what he was talking about.

When I say rehab for birds of prey, I’m talking helping injured birds…

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The Squirrel Who Died Of Natural Causes

Our hero in happier times. (image via ncpedia)

On Friday, I pulled out of my driveway and headed down the street. As I reached the edge of the driveway of a house across the street, I spotted something out of the corner of my eye and hit the brakes. It was a squirrel, right at the edge of the road, at the corner of that driveway. I stopped in time to avoid hitting it, then looked to see where it went.

The squirrel hadn’t gone anywhere. He was dead. I didn’t hit him with my car, there wasn’t a mark on him. He was already long gone by the time I spotted him.

Now, I didn’t get out and check for a pulse. I don’t know if the squirrel had rigor mortis, I didn’t check his lividity or temperature. Some things you just know. Squirrels aren’t usually that still.

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