A Disgusting Post About Dead Squirrels
Last December when my brother and sister came for a visit, there was a disgusting stench all through our end of the block. I had literally stuck my head inside the trash can to look for a source, but I concluded that whatever was causing the smell was not my problem. Unfortunately I was wrong. When I published my first dissertation on yardwork and mowing the lawn, I left out one little detail of the ordeal, one little incident that haunted me for weeks afterward. As I mowed along in the back of the house, close to the border of no man’s land, where no one is really responsible for the grass, but within the area I had designated as my responsibility, I came upon the corpse of a squirrel. The look on what was left on his face was rather angry and frightening, but in his condition it was impossible to tell if he really had been that mad when he expired. I quickly turned the mower and headed in the other direction, but every time I came near it I caught a whiff of that awful smell (at least I thought I did, but it may have been psychosomatic), so eventually I just abandoned that part of the lawn and went to mow somewhere else.
Later that morning, when the extremely helpful “mayor” of our housing area came by with plastic bags for spring cleanup (“Now these are for the common areas, not for you”) I asked her if there was an animal control on post that usually picked up dead animals. Her tremendously useful advice was to call my husband. I thought he might be a little far flung for squirrel removal, so I did whatever I could to make her leave (threw the bags in the bushes, waved, restarted the mower) and continued on until all but a small patch in the backyard had been mowed.
Since the spot where the squirrel lay was far from the house and in an area where the children never played, I figured none of them was going to discover it before I came up with a way to get rid of it. Under no circumstances was I going to attempt to remove it, since it looked like it had been there so long, there was some likelihood that it would disintegrate as I tried to pick it up and make an even bigger mess. Every afternoon as I sat with the kids at the playground or trampoline, I would occasionally gaze over at the clump of grass where I knew the squirrel remains remained. If I was a soap opera character, these occasions would have been perfect for the fuzzy slow motion memory sequences, showing me repeatedly turning away in horror at the grisly scene in the grass.
The next time I mowed the grass, the patch around the squirrel was about 8 inches long and growing. My father-in-law was arriving later in the day to visit, and I knew if I asked him to he would get a shovel and get rid of the squirrel, but I really didn’t want to ask him to, because I really didn’t want to ask anyone to. I know some of the neighbors, but none of them seem like the hunting, camping, outdoorsy type (ironic for a military housing area isn’t it?). In Kentucky my next door neighbor was a real outdoorsman, always taking his boys out to hunt and fish and hike and camp. I would have gone running to him in a second, because he probably could have looked at the squirrel, determined how long it had been there, and then executed a flawless plan to remove every trace of him. Fortunately for me and my father-in-law, on the day in question one of the maintenance crew had come to replace my storm door handle. When he was done, he came over to where I was mowing the lawn and asked if there was anything else he could do for me. So I took a chance and told him about the squirrel. “Well, let’s take a look,” he said. When I showed him the body, he said, “He’s been there a good long time.” And then he reached down with his bare hand and picked the thing up with two fingers and carried it off toward his truck. I thanked him profusely and briefly wondered if I should offer him some Purell, but he climbed back in his truck and drove off.
I don’t think I can properly explain the relief and happiness I felt when that squirrel was gone. The stress of finding a way to get rid of it, as well as the stress of making sure the kids didn’t discover it was removed in one fell swoop by a maintenance man who probably couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t just picked the thing up myself. I got the mower back out and mowed the little patch where the squirrel had been, and I was ready to put the squirrel episode behind me. After all, how many times do you find a squirrel corpse in your yard?
Unfortunately for me, the answer is now twice, in two months. Earlier this week I bought some peppers to roast, because roasted peppers are a specialty of the HP which I am sorely missing in his abscence. I went out to start the grill this morning, and there, right next to the house, draped across what I believe are some cable wires, is another squirrel corpse. Clearly, this one cannot be ignored. I called the housing office, but they referred me to the MPs (there is no number for animal control here the way there was in Kentucky). I called the MPs and they took my request for corpse removal, not indicating that it was not within their responsibilities and not indicating that there was anything strange about my request.
Why can’t I just remove the squirrel myself since it is clearly a new body and would presumably come up in one piece if I tried to get it with a shovel? Because I don’t know why it is dead. It is draped across the cable wires, which I know are not exactly power lines, but what if one of them was hot enough to kill the squirrel? Should I stick my shovel in there to find out? What if he had rabies or west nile virus or some other crazy disease. Should I just poke around in there anyway and figure if I wash my hands all will be well? Where exactly would I put the remains for the next 5 ninety degree days before the trash is picked up again? I certainly would not put them in my trash can because I’m sure the trash can would never be the same - I would be the cause of the stench next December.
Although I have sung the praises of the gate guards, they are different from the MPs. It is safe to say that thanks to the gate guards, this is not a hotbed of crime. In fact the only “crime” that occurs with any regularity is speeding. So how does the MP force spend its time? In four man speed traps that set up near the housing areas and day care center. I have not had many dealings with the MPs since I drive the speed limit. But from what I have observed, there is a spare man at the speed traps that could drop by my house and remove the squirrel. I spent all morning and a good part of the afternoon at the house, waiting for the MPs so that I could show them where to find the squirrel. No one came. My previously described Irish temper is beginning to spin again. I will be calling tomorrow to rerequest the removal of the squirrel corpse, this time providing an extensive description of the situation and why I will not be handling it myself (and why my husband will not be handling it). I am gearing up for a battle that may not occur, which is stressful for me, because I’m more of an “everything will work out” kind of girl. But I am starting to suspect that my request was ignored because the MPs think it is stupid. I don’t care what they think, if dead squirrel removal is in their job description, they should come remove the dead squirrel or get another job (I know, I’m such a bad ass). (It’s like the indignant workers at a return desk at a store asking you to explain why you are returning something. “I’m returning it because I don’t like it, and by returning it I help make sure you can keep your job at the return desk.”) If the squirrel remains are not removed tomorrow, you will all be hearing about it I can assure you.
Do you want to know what the saddest thing about this dead squirrel post is? I have a list of other gross squirrel stories that I jotted down in case I needed extra stuff to get to 1500 words. Should any one person (who does not own a copy of the “White Trash Cookbook”) be able to discuss dead squirrels at such length? No, America, she should not.
Later that morning, when the extremely helpful “mayor” of our housing area came by with plastic bags for spring cleanup (“Now these are for the common areas, not for you”) I asked her if there was an animal control on post that usually picked up dead animals. Her tremendously useful advice was to call my husband. I thought he might be a little far flung for squirrel removal, so I did whatever I could to make her leave (threw the bags in the bushes, waved, restarted the mower) and continued on until all but a small patch in the backyard had been mowed.
Since the spot where the squirrel lay was far from the house and in an area where the children never played, I figured none of them was going to discover it before I came up with a way to get rid of it. Under no circumstances was I going to attempt to remove it, since it looked like it had been there so long, there was some likelihood that it would disintegrate as I tried to pick it up and make an even bigger mess. Every afternoon as I sat with the kids at the playground or trampoline, I would occasionally gaze over at the clump of grass where I knew the squirrel remains remained. If I was a soap opera character, these occasions would have been perfect for the fuzzy slow motion memory sequences, showing me repeatedly turning away in horror at the grisly scene in the grass.
The next time I mowed the grass, the patch around the squirrel was about 8 inches long and growing. My father-in-law was arriving later in the day to visit, and I knew if I asked him to he would get a shovel and get rid of the squirrel, but I really didn’t want to ask him to, because I really didn’t want to ask anyone to. I know some of the neighbors, but none of them seem like the hunting, camping, outdoorsy type (ironic for a military housing area isn’t it?). In Kentucky my next door neighbor was a real outdoorsman, always taking his boys out to hunt and fish and hike and camp. I would have gone running to him in a second, because he probably could have looked at the squirrel, determined how long it had been there, and then executed a flawless plan to remove every trace of him. Fortunately for me and my father-in-law, on the day in question one of the maintenance crew had come to replace my storm door handle. When he was done, he came over to where I was mowing the lawn and asked if there was anything else he could do for me. So I took a chance and told him about the squirrel. “Well, let’s take a look,” he said. When I showed him the body, he said, “He’s been there a good long time.” And then he reached down with his bare hand and picked the thing up with two fingers and carried it off toward his truck. I thanked him profusely and briefly wondered if I should offer him some Purell, but he climbed back in his truck and drove off.
I don’t think I can properly explain the relief and happiness I felt when that squirrel was gone. The stress of finding a way to get rid of it, as well as the stress of making sure the kids didn’t discover it was removed in one fell swoop by a maintenance man who probably couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t just picked the thing up myself. I got the mower back out and mowed the little patch where the squirrel had been, and I was ready to put the squirrel episode behind me. After all, how many times do you find a squirrel corpse in your yard?
Unfortunately for me, the answer is now twice, in two months. Earlier this week I bought some peppers to roast, because roasted peppers are a specialty of the HP which I am sorely missing in his abscence. I went out to start the grill this morning, and there, right next to the house, draped across what I believe are some cable wires, is another squirrel corpse. Clearly, this one cannot be ignored. I called the housing office, but they referred me to the MPs (there is no number for animal control here the way there was in Kentucky). I called the MPs and they took my request for corpse removal, not indicating that it was not within their responsibilities and not indicating that there was anything strange about my request.
Why can’t I just remove the squirrel myself since it is clearly a new body and would presumably come up in one piece if I tried to get it with a shovel? Because I don’t know why it is dead. It is draped across the cable wires, which I know are not exactly power lines, but what if one of them was hot enough to kill the squirrel? Should I stick my shovel in there to find out? What if he had rabies or west nile virus or some other crazy disease. Should I just poke around in there anyway and figure if I wash my hands all will be well? Where exactly would I put the remains for the next 5 ninety degree days before the trash is picked up again? I certainly would not put them in my trash can because I’m sure the trash can would never be the same - I would be the cause of the stench next December.
Although I have sung the praises of the gate guards, they are different from the MPs. It is safe to say that thanks to the gate guards, this is not a hotbed of crime. In fact the only “crime” that occurs with any regularity is speeding. So how does the MP force spend its time? In four man speed traps that set up near the housing areas and day care center. I have not had many dealings with the MPs since I drive the speed limit. But from what I have observed, there is a spare man at the speed traps that could drop by my house and remove the squirrel. I spent all morning and a good part of the afternoon at the house, waiting for the MPs so that I could show them where to find the squirrel. No one came. My previously described Irish temper is beginning to spin again. I will be calling tomorrow to rerequest the removal of the squirrel corpse, this time providing an extensive description of the situation and why I will not be handling it myself (and why my husband will not be handling it). I am gearing up for a battle that may not occur, which is stressful for me, because I’m more of an “everything will work out” kind of girl. But I am starting to suspect that my request was ignored because the MPs think it is stupid. I don’t care what they think, if dead squirrel removal is in their job description, they should come remove the dead squirrel or get another job (I know, I’m such a bad ass). (It’s like the indignant workers at a return desk at a store asking you to explain why you are returning something. “I’m returning it because I don’t like it, and by returning it I help make sure you can keep your job at the return desk.”) If the squirrel remains are not removed tomorrow, you will all be hearing about it I can assure you.
Do you want to know what the saddest thing about this dead squirrel post is? I have a list of other gross squirrel stories that I jotted down in case I needed extra stuff to get to 1500 words. Should any one person (who does not own a copy of the “White Trash Cookbook”) be able to discuss dead squirrels at such length? No, America, she should not.
posted by Shannon at 10:48 PM
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