I Live With A Killer

She doesn’t look dangerous, only five feet tall, with large blue eyes. But inside that small frame beats the heart of a heartless…waaaaaait a minute. That’s impossible! Well, okay, she has a heart, but it’s cold and unfeeling. I’m talking about my wife, Beth, and this past Sunday, she killed another living creature by ramming into it with our car…and then driving away. Yes, readers, it was a hit-and-run.

We were on our way to church, when a squirrel came skittering onto the road. There was a sickening “thump” and suddenly the squirrel’s hopes of becoming President were cut short. My wife turned to me and wailed, “I just killed a squirrel!”

At first, I tried to console her by attempting to convince her that the squirrel had been leading a miserable life and decided to commit suicide by leaping in front of our car. This explanation soon became tiresome, however, and the fifth time she turned to me and wailed, “I hit a squirrel,” I said,

“Yes, you did. And it was a cruel, heartless thing to do.”
“Waaaaaaah!”

It hasn’t ended yet. Since the incident, we’ll be sitting around the house, walking through the store, or driving somewhere, and she’ll suddenly whip around toward me at random moments and wail, “I killed a squirrel!”

I only hope that, when the summons from the lawyer representing the squirrel’s family arrives, the court will recognize that I was an innocent by-sitter, and had nothing to do with the taking of an innocent life. Hey, I tried to get her to stop! I distinctly remember saying,

“Honey, stop the car! We might be able to save him!”

I was more than prepared to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, a blood transfusion, or even a liver transplant…but, no! Afraid of the consequences, my wife continued to drive on! I’m sure, however, that the guilt she has been experiencing has been punishment enough. Justice will always prevail in the end.

Speaking of killing things, I don’t know what it is with birds lately. I’ve been driving around in my truck and I’ve probably killed three birds this week alone. If they would just fly high enough, they’d be perfectly safe, but instead they choose to swoop over the roadway, as if they’re pretending to be Japanese torpedo planes attacking the Yorktown.

Hold on just a minute, my wife is calling to me…

“What’s that? Yes, dear, I’m sure the squirrel had life insurance…well, if he didn’t, we’ll help out his family with a monthly supply of nuts. We’ll just send him to one of your family reunions. He’ll find plenty there. Yes, dear, go back to sleep. Did you take your pill? Good.”

*sigh* It’s been such a traumatic experience. Heaven help us if she ever runs over an armadillo. I’ll never hear the end of it.