I just ran over a chipmunk on my bike. I was listening to Michel Thomas on my iPod when this cute furball appeared out of nowhere. Ã‚Â¿MatÃƒÂ© el chipmunk? No mueras por favor, seÃƒÂ±or Chipmunk! I thought I only bumped him, maybe nipped his nail — but when I looked back, poor dude was flopping all over the place. I’ve never seen a creature convulse like that, just bouncing around on the ground before slipping into eternity with a few last desperate twitches. Upon closer examination it appeared as if he’d actually pissed himself in all the excitement, with blood splattered all over his mouth and whiskers. No other real signs of trauma; I imagine there was massive internal bleeding and/or a snapped vertebrae. Autopsy reports pending.
IÃ‚Â have never previously entertained the notion of running over an animal on my bike, but it appearsÃ‚Â I encountered the one sorry bugger too slow to scamper out of the way of my Schwinn of Doom.Ã‚Â After staring for ten minutes aghast at the dastardly deed I’d done, I dug a grave for Dale between two pine trees. I’m not gonna lie, I was loathe to grab his tail but this kid deserved an honorable burial. The site is marked with a rock and two twigs in the shape of a cross, held together with grass.
After the funeral I attempted to make contact with Chip, his long-time gay lover, but to no avail. R.I.P mi amigo.