Preparing for leaving town and catching up upon return almost makes taking a vacation futile. Nothing I said “almost” so I thought I’d share this gem, taken from the blog of one of my co-vacationers. While the boys spent the day on the golf course, I worshipped Ra and typed on my laptop. When we reconvened, we hit the local pub (gotta like being within walking distance of four bars) for pre-dinner munchies and drinks. It was here I first heard this tale.
“I dreaded the 18 holes of golf on Thursday because of my mental and physical fatigue. We played a course called Oyster Bay, just north of Calabash, N.C. What a gorgeous place: swampy inlets, ponds, contoured and manicured fairways and greens — and lots and lots of sand! Oh man, did I ever spend some time in the sand. (It was a nice day for the beach …) I shot 93 for the round, which was OK considering I golfed poorly on the front nine and killed a squirrel by running it over with our golf cart!
The stupid little rodent darted right in front of the cart while my brother and I were cruising along the path. I tried to avoid it, but it got caught under the driver’s side front wheel. The cart must have dragged the squirrel for 15 feet or so before running it over. I looked back on the path, hoping against my instinct that the squirrel was indeed cart-path kill. When I saw it twitching, feet toward the sky, I knew my hope was dashed.
I didn’t dwell on the dead squirrel because it clearly exhibited lemming-like behavior. I didn’t want to kill the thing, but perhaps my wants took a backseat to other forces at that time; I served a higher purpose: a tale that’s no doubt been repeating itself for a long time.”
Needless to say my sudden chants of “Squirrel Killer!” for the remainder of our trip served to put us all in hysterics.