Couldn't You Have Just Buried It?

Now, I know it may sound surprising, but dead things are not always easy to find.

Yes, they are usually splattered across the pavement like one of those grade school projects where you try to drop an egg off the roof and you're supposed to create a parachute but it never really works properly... or was that just me? But then again, sometimes they look like a bowl of red jello scrambled up with bits of fur and then dumped onto the ground... oh, and then there are always those "chip bag" incidents. You know, when you get those mini bags of chips and someone inevitably steps on one left on the ground and pops it. The bag itself still looks relatively intact, but all the chips have shot out one end and exploded across the floor.... Take the same concept and substitute the chip bag with.. oh, I don't know --a bunny.

Anyway, where was I going with this....

Ah yes, sometimes these little critters can hide on you!

Thankfully, today offered me some assistance in locating a dead squirrel. No, it wasn't the smell. True --that usually helps. But you see, depending on how fresh these things are the rancid stench can wain in a strong breeze.

No no, actually... an entire construction crew decided to flag me down.

Arms were frantically waved. Flags were flapped. And in and amungst the whistling and laughing, a collective "THE DEAD SQUIRREL IS OVER HERE!!!" resounded out from the group.

Awesome. Way to be discrete. I don't know if any of you realize how awkward it can be to have an entire crowd of people staring at you while you pick up a dead animal, but apparently I am fascinating. Perhaps I should start charging admission....

I do, however, find myself laughing at the hushed "...yea, it IS a chick" murmers that always seem to carry on. Yes I am a girl. Yes I am picking up dead things. I also loaded up over 100 pounds of donated pet food into my van with a man standing there watching me today. But as far as the death is concerned, seriously guys, I'm just going to pick it up through a garbage bag. Don't you think, as big manly construction workers, that you should be able to do that for yourself?

Something tells me that my expectations might be a bit high. I'm pretty sure chivalry died, rotted, got super maggoty, was scraped off the pavement, and then bagged by me a long time ago.