Squirrels Part III

I witnessed a life ended in gruesome fashion today. North Hollywood is both inundated with squirrels and pockmarked with roads. From what I can tell squirrels generally appear to lack understanding about what a road involves. If they did they wouldn’t go on them. But they do.

At the first light of the dawn, a solemn scene. A squirrel downed. Not just downed but flattened. A pupusa covered in fur and filled with guts and shaped symmetrically round by the immense pressure of a car tyre. This one was particularly spread out. It may have suffered under the wheels of one of the myriad of construction vehicles that dot the neighborhood. Constructing multiplexes to encourage gentrification and gain a higher purse for their landlords. Why do we still refer to them as lords? And where is the gender neutral term for the other who own and lease properties? While these are questions to contemplate, they are of no concern to this particular squirrel. Partly because it was a squirrel. And primarily because it is now dead.

Squirrels are my absolute favorites. In case you couldn’t tell already. When I first moved to Los Angeles I noticed in an instant that this city is fortunate to have the coolest creatures sharing the land. I am fascinated by them. I never tire of watching them move. They appear to be very studious animals. Always working at something. I respect squirrels. It pains me to see one deceased. I didn’t know this squirrel personally but I do know its kind. Do squirrels have a sense of family? Do they feel loss? I’m going to the library to pace the shelving units and find a book which will teach me more. Until that time I will ask more questions.

There is but one positive side to this early morning murder scene. I’m not a believer in the afterlife. I believe that once we are dead that’s it. Our soul has escaped the container of flesh and blood that held us together during our time alive. But in a morbid way that container can still be useful and this situation is one of those cases.

Attached by talons to the squirrel's corpse, a dark black crow feasts. Not even silently. It pecks with great gusto at the intestines splaying out of our dearly departed. This is initially confronting but I ultimately decide that it’s a good thing. The squirrel is dead. The crow may live another day due to the squirrel’s lack of care and understanding of road rules.

As I walk on by I take a moment to reflect on the meal that the crow is partaking in. Hopeful this sustenance will see it through any troubling times to come in the near future. It’ll also contribute to the crow being too heavy to sit on top of the Italian Cypress I can see from my window at home. One life ended so that another may gorge. This may not have been what Elton John was referring to but it is certainly part of the circle of life.