What's a six-letter word for squirrel?" my wife yelled from the living room as I was outside tending to my traps and snares.
Animal, I thought, rodent. All of a sudden, a gray blur whizzed by my feet. Something had been living in the back yard for months. I had seen the signs--holes in unusual places, and my dog acting weird, barking underneath my studio and scratching at the woodpile. I had seen scat in the grass, too, which didn't belong to me or the dog. So I set a trap with cashew nuts but couldn't catch anything except a bird, which I had to set free. Now my dog had a squirrel trapped under a tree; she was barking, and the squirrel was chirping really loudly, so I scooted him and his big fuzzy tail out with a broom, hoping my dog would chase the squirrel out of the yard. But my dog ignored the squirrel. The squirrel ran around my studio, flew in the pool, hopped out, and sat on the wall, drenched, mocking me with a "fuck you, bitch" attitude, not realizing that around our house, Wednesday night is Man vs. Wild night. In a matter of minutes I had that squirrel roasting on a fire in the back yard, and as he sizzled in the flames, I wanted to ask him, "Where is your 'fuck you, bitch' attitude now, Mr. Squirrel?", but he couldn't answer me because he was dead.
"What's a six-letter word for squirrel?" my wife yelled again.
"Dinner!" I yelled back.
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