Harry and His Squirrel

I went to the store late this afternoon to pick bread and cheese, my staples when my husband isn’t home. Nothing like a grilled cheese sandwich. Too bad my husband is away for over three weeks because that grilled cheese can get kind of boring over that length of time. Oh I could cook for myself, but I don’t want to. And I could go out to eat, but I don’t really want to, because it would involve going alone and looking like I have no friends. Okay, I’m shallow. I have friends, but I’m not really in the mood to see them. So, I’ll quit my complaining about grilled cheese sandwiches for now.

When Alex, my husband, travels, it’s usually not for this long a trip. He’s in Germany and calls frequently telling me that the days are really flying by, he’s so busy! Uh-huh. The week and a half he’s been gone seems like six months to me. I have two big dogs and a cat to give me solace and protection. (Yeah, my cat went to a terrorist training camp before we got him out of the pound.) Honey is my girl dog and Harry is my boy dog. Harry is big (about ninety pounds) and sort of goofy. He’s part lab, part pit, and part God knows what. He’s a bright orange and has ears like a shar pei. Harry loves chasing squirrels in our back yard. He tries to climb trees after them. He’s fast but the squirrels are faster! That is, well, okay, you know what’s coming.

I got back from the store and Harry came rushing up to me with a big gray toy in his mouth. For a second I thought, where did he get that? A second later I realized that he was trying to give me his prize! A big dead squirrel. I am not a girly girl, by any stretch of imagination, but I do kind of avoid dead animals. Okay, yes, I screamed, “Drop it” and Harry did obey for a change. He dropped it right on the Persian rug in the dining room, and Honey ambled over to sniff and investigate her partner’s wonderful plaything.

I stuck both dogs in the office, and closed the door on them. They were both howling with outrage. I ran over to my friend and neighbor across the street and said, “Can you help me?” Our friend Henry looked concerned!

What could be wrong? When I told him, he got that silly look on his face that men get when they think woman are being girly and said he had to go put on his shoes. He came back with a plastic shopping bag and said seriously to me, “The coffin.” I nodded. I was trying to maintain my sense of self-respect but it wasn’t easy. I could not even walk in the room with the dead squirrel, much less touch it.

Henry took the squirrel and went home. (Why did he take the squirrel with him?) Oh, who cares? Harry is still mad about me getting rid of his squirrel. And I’m getting madder by the moment because my husband is not here when I have an emergency!