I was very brave today. I was home alone cleaning the pool when I felt something squish under my sneakers (thank god for those sneakers, if I had been barefoot I think I would have died of shock). I looked down and, camouflaged by the rocks surrounding the pool, was a dead squirrel. A very dead squirrel. Judging by the flies, it had been there a while. I debated pretending I hadn’t seen it, but with a pool party set for tomorrow, that didn’t seem the best hostess option. I also debated leaving the sticky problem to my husband, but that didn’t seem the nicest way to treat my lily-livered but hard-working spouse. Sloughing it off to my thirteen year old son occurred to me, but I didn’t want to burden him with the chore. The option of making my 10 year old daughter do it never occurred to me because that simply would not happen. Faced with these choices and realizing the benefit of the fact that it was garbage day, I sucked it up (my courage, not the squirrel), and went and got gloves, two garbage bags, and a stick. I cannot describe the level of horror I felt as I reached the squirrel carcass. I tried to use the stick to push the squirrel into one of the garbage bags. As I poked and prodded it, it rolled over and I saw the maggots squirming in its underbelly. Gag. For real. Gag again. It also smelled nasty. I debated all the above alternate options to my having to perform this task and decided "I am a grown woman, I can do this." I finally managed to get the squirrel halfway into the bag and roll it entirely in. I then proudly marched the monstrosity to the pail at the curb and, carefully covering it with other garbage (don’t know what the rules are for disposing of rodents), triumphantly tossed it in. I am very proud of myself!