Sulkyblue's Blog

I killed a squirrel.

I didn't intend to, in fact I was actually trying to be nice to the various small wildlife that visits our garden. Sadly it doesn't seem to hav worked out so well for little Nutkin.

Technically I think the blame lies with the people that brought us a bread maker. I means tht we have not only. A steady stream of frehly baked warm bread, but a steady stream of stale ends of loaves that we never finish.

So yesterday I decided to clear the breadboards and pass the leftovers on to the wildlife. I cut up the remnants of a roll an some olive bread and thoughtfully soaked them in water for a bit to try to remove the breeze block texture. Then i threw it out in the back garden on a nice piece of grass and thought no more of it.

Several hours later I went out to the summer house, which I've turned into a temporary writing room. My eye was drawn to the pile of bread where I gradually worked ou what I was seeing. The grey shadow wa in fact little Squirel Nutkin collapsed acros the bread. Little paws outstretched, tail curled around the prize pile of food.

Now I'm not sure whether I really killed him. Maybe it was just his time to go and he struggled across the lawn for one final meal of pretensious italian olive bread. Maybe in fact I allowed him one final wonderful experience. Or maybe I didn't soak the bread enough and his last moments were spent struggling to breath around the rock solid olive lodged in his throat, cursing my name and waving his little squirrel fists in the air.

Sadly Nutkins indignities do not end there. Confronted with the tiny body I wondered what to do, how to show my last respects for this tiny creature who had valiantly battled against my housemates atempts to defend the tomatos and strawberries from his hungry paws. I thought long and hard and decided to ignore him and let Michael deal with it when he got home.

Two hours later, having written my daily dose of ramblings, I returned to the house. I shone my torch toward the temporary resting place, only to discover the body was gone.

I'll ne'er know whether Nutkin staged a remarkable recovery, whether his fellow squirrels carried him away for a decent burial, or whether our local foxes had a surprise treat or dinner. But whichever is true, I hope Nutkin is happily settled on a pile of nuts in squirrel heaven where the little sod will never steal our strawberries again.

Posted from a bench in Russell square, while slghtly nervously watching the local squirrels holding up passers by for their sandwiches.