The Cold Blooded Killer Among Us

Sally.  She's a bad seed.  Full of blood-lust.  She shredded a poor squirrel Saturday.  I was lounging on the sofa when Lucy and The Daddler came strolling in from their daily walk.  Lucy ran to me and commenced her lascivious licking.  The D said, "He just eat a baby squirrel."  I recoiled in horror at the thought of squirrel-carcass-laden saliva being lavishly slathered on my forearm and face.

It took a full 10 minutes of cross-examination, complete with a game of Charades, to determine that it was Sally, not Lucy, who'd brutally murdered a cute little squirrel with his life stretching out before him.  I asked The Witness if he'd interred the remains of the victim.  He said, "Naw.  I told you, he eat 'im!"  I found it hard to believe that the dog had devoured ALL of the squirrel, and I had flashbacks to the explosive diarrhea episode from a few weeks before, so I grabbed two blue plastic newspooper bags (I coined that term) and high-tailed it to the back yard.  I explained to The D how to put his hand in the bag and grab the body and turn the bag inside out.  He said, in the rudest tone possible, "I know how to do it."  Keep in mind, he's only picked up dog poop ONCE.  And that was after he saw a story on the local news that it was illegal to let your dog shit around town.  And the only reason I know that is because I happened to see him stroll up the driveway after a walk with the Queen of Turds, Lucy, holding the shiny blue package of poop.  That was cool.  Until I encountered said sac swarming with flies at the end of the driveway.  I guess he didn't want to stink up the garbage can. 

Back to the back yard.  Turns out, Sadistic, Satanic Sally hadn't eaten the entire squirrel.  Because after she did her usual Tigger imitation upon seeing us, she grabbed the remainder of the rodent and started sprinting around the yard.  I let out a blood-curdling scream.  I even scared myself.  And I kept screaming.  Something about seeing the bloody entrails of a cute baby animal being slung around playfully, like a Frisbee, in the jaws of a member of my family, triggered a visceral, guttural reaction in me.  When I finally caught up with the killer, who was loving every minute of the chase, I snatched her by her harness (it was reminiscent of how I'd stopped her from severing Lucy's aorta not two weeks earlier,) and she dropped her quarry.  I was queasy.  The Daddler took over.  I don't know what he did with the squirrel.  All I know is that garbage pickup was two days later and the weather was cooler.  And I didn't see the blue body bag.