Wednesday, September 16, 2009

killin's and winnin's

Tink and I were the death knell for a squirrel yesterday.

Further proof that I should simply stay home all the time.

(<----Shouldn't have gone out without his armor, like this guy!)

That poor little fuzzball had NO chance, as it was jitterbigging around in the middle of my lane on a 2-lane road while there was a car coming the other way and one behind me, with the result that slamming on the brakes OR swerving were not options. So, being as how I'm all inner tree-hugger Mama Earth Mistress of the Anthropomorphication, I tried to aim Tink so that the wee morsel of future Road Ready Flat Snack was as evenly betwixt the tires as possible, thinking that even a squirrel, with its admittedly very small brain, would maybe crouch in fear as the behemoth Tink passed overhead, much as a human cowers when a city-sized alien ship whizzes overhead.

But no. There was to be no crouching. Perhaps squirrels haven’t watched the same sci-fi movies as me?

MY victim, instead of making him/herself as tee-tiny as possible (AKA ‘the sensible thing to do’), did the exact opposite and LEAPT as I piloted ohsocarefully over it.

There was a small ‘thump,’ and then there was only a twitching furry body on the macadam behind me.

Though sorrowful, I was aware enough to hear Tinkebell laugh sullenly in her growly throat as drops of blood and rodent fear washed through her radiator. She’s tasted blood before, has Tink, surviving the onslaught of a full-grown buck once and a near-miss with a crow that left her the proud owner of a couple of long black feathers, and I honestly think she just was hungry again and so maybe did some crouching of her own as we passed over the ill-fated beastie. I can't say if it was a crouch or s simple dip in the road, so won't cast too many (or very loud) aspersions.

So, it's highly likely that it's better she offed a squirrel than getting desperately ravenous and someday veering onto a jogging path to satiate her blood lust. One squirrel down, one baby saved.


Hey - The ‘name my new bike’ contest went rather well, thanks for asking. Many good choices were offered up from which to pick, as follows:

The Quadrangle
Patrick Swayze
Whooooa Nellie
Princesll Snicklefritz
Bikey Stardust
Toy George
George Bikals
Silver Streaker
Gray Ghost

The reasoning behind some of these suggestions are in yesterday’s comments, some of which are so awesome as to put hair on the chest of a 6-year-old girl. Because that's what awesome does, and not coincidentally, why I need to shave between my boobs on a daily basis.

And while I love a fair many of those names, only one made me spit bourbon when I read it, after which I aspirated a little of it, which burned some but I’m OK now, thanks for asking:


I love it. LOVE! With puppies! And butter!

So thanks, Tracy Lynn, for the antiseptic lung lavage AND the great new bike name.

Now, where can I get me one of those tiny lil’ licenese plates with “Nemesis" on it to attach to her seat?? Anyone got a suggestion for THAT?


I hope y'all are having a hiphappy Humpday, which is half over by now if you're on the east coast like me (yay!), which also means that we're on the down hill side of this week, which is a grand idea indeed. Tiff out.

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