This is a eulogy for a dead squirrel that died in my backyard and I dumped in my neighbor’s backyard by total accident. Well, actually, I did it on purpose. But I learned some important lessons about death and squirrels thanks to that dead squirrel. Besides, if you read my past post, you know that the whole squirrel nation is in an uproar because of it. I don’t want all that on my head. So I put together this eulogy real fast in hopes that it will calm all those squirrels down. So, like I said, here’s my eulogy for that dead squirrel.
I didn’t know the squirrel that died in my backyard by name. I don’t know what squirrels call themselves. Probably not Buffy or Leonard. Maybe something like Pippy or Quiver. But how would I know? Besides, a dead squirrel isn’t thinking about its name anymore, even if it was Leonard. He’s too busy being dead.
Which brings up a thing about squirrels that should be remembered. Squirrels are almost always busy. Running here and there eating and doing other squirrelly things. I don’t really know what those other things might be except sleeping. They seem to chatter, but most of the time I can’t understand them. When they’re mad it’s easy to understand, but other times it sounds only chattery. Chatter chatter. Kind of like that. Being busy is a good thing for a squirrel because they are very high strung, like they’re on meth. Which means a bored squirrel could be a major problem. All that unused energy could burst out in violence. And if a bunch of bored squirrels ever got organized. Whoa. Let me tell you. But most squirrels are too busy to join a gang.
My dead squirrel (see, I’m liking him even though I dumped him before) showed me that all God’s creatures have value. Ants are for stepping on or burning with a magnifying glass. Cows are for mooing and milk and hamburger. Dogs are for wagging and barking and fighting each other in an illegal dog fighting ring. Cats, I hate to say, are for killing squirrels. It was a cat who left that squirrel in my backyard. I saw it. Bad cat. Squirrels are for trees and nuts. They are the people of the branches. (Do you like that last sentence? Pretty poetic, I think.) Squirrels have their place, which is not dead in my backyard.
O squirrel! Why did you have to die in my backyard? Why did you leave this world of care? Did you find a happier place somewhere? Does it have trees and nuts? Does it have high-speed internet? I remember you, dead squirrel. I remember the vicious looks your friends gave me in the park. I am sorry I didn’t treat you with dignity and I promise that the next time a cat drops a squirrel in my backyard to die, I will give it the dignity it deserves. Forgive me squirrel. Don’t be an omen of death to me anymore. I want to live free of omens of death like a squirrel!
Let us remember this dead squirrel. He is gone now. But his memory lives on in our memories, which is where memories live. We will remember him, and when we do, we will think of him. When we think of him, we will remember him. It’s a circle of memories and thinking going round and round. And one day, maybe this squirrel will be alive again. Probably not, but it’s a shot anyway.
So I end this eulogy with a thought. More of an idea actually. Could it be that this dead squirrel could teach us something? Yes, I say. It’s something to think about.
A founder of America said this: Give me liberty or give me death. I guess we know where the squirrel came down on the issue.
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