We went up to Washington DC area for Thanksgiving and seriously, the elevators going down to the subway sound like very loud wounded animals.That's actually a different part of the subway, but I thought it was prettier than chipmunky sounding place.
So then we got back to Texas on Saturday, the temperature was still in the 70s, and the city had put up these cute little signs:Which is a lucky thing for those of us confused about what season it is. We're not likely to forget either, because we see the signs on the way to work and the way to school and the way to religious school. And for some reason, we also see dead squirrels. A LOT of dead squirrels.
Religious school is less than two miles from here & we saw ALL these squirrels just on the way there & back:
We saw more dead squirrels than that, but I figure you can probably only take so many pictures of gored squirrel guts before your neighbors start to wonder.
Actually, I posted this because The-Guy-Who-Knows-A-Song-About-A-Chicken has asked for a road kill post more than once. And what the heck kind of wife am I going to make him if I can't even post a few rodent innards as a favor to him?
Younger gal asked why there were so very many dead squirrels, and of course my first thought was that they were expressing their sympathy with the dying chipmunks of D.C. by committing mass suicide.
But then I thought maybe the mass suicide was due to them having been confused about the season when suddenly they realized (due to the signs) that they hadn't gathered enough acorns or something.
I was driving along wondering the exact number of roadkill pictures that constitute an adequate expression of undying love when a squirrel not so much darted but ROCKETED across the road, giving me an live (or narrowly-not-dead) demonstration.
If I had been driving just three miles an hour faster instead of meandering lost in thought about rodent carcass, he or she would have been squished flat to the pavement like the rest of them. Half the squirrels throughout the city must have been repeating his or her mistake at an absurd rate to produce this carnage.
Maybe it's the full moon.