Mors Ab Alto*

*With apologies to the 7th Bomb Wing, USAF

We returned home last Sunday afternoon after a whirlwind** 750-mile weekend trip to our old stamping grounds*** in West Texas, and as we drove over the low water crossing to pick up our mail, we saw that a squirrel had recently been hit by a car and lay dead in the street. Given that we have approximately forty thousand squirrels in our neighborhood, this wouldn’t seem like much of a loss, but in this case it was a rock squirrel, and they are relatively rare. Alert Gazette readers may recall that we were involuntary hosts to a gaggle**** of young rock squirrels about this time last year. It was a little sad to think that perhaps a new batch of squirrelings were now missing a parent.

Anyway, the buzzards (aka “the biohazard remediation team in the sky”) had begun to circle, and would eventually descend to their inevitable feast. We don’t give them enough credit for the nasty-but-important work they do, but that’s another story and we’re all about staying on point here at the Gazette.

Later that evening, as I was firing up the grill to cook cedar plank tuna (the salmon at the grocery store not looking particularly appetizing on that day, none of which is really germane to the story), I heard a plop followed immediately by thrashing sounds in the vicinity of the pecan tree in our back yard. I looked up in time to see two buzzards land awkwardly in the tree — they’re quite graceful in flight, but their tree landings are about as smooth as a Trump tweet — and another one aborting a landing and pulling back up into the sky.

The two big birds stayed in the tree for a few seconds, and then followed the third one into the air. That was rather odd behavior; I had never before seen a buzzard perched in any of our trees. But it was the plop that intrigued me. 

I wasn’t mystified for long as I immediately spotted the source of the sound. I thought about posting a photo, but out of respect for the delicate sensibilities of the typical Gazette reader, I’ve chosen this artist’s rendering as an accurate representation of the scene:

Using my massive investigatory skills, honed by years of watching CSI Miami (I’ve also mastered the technique of standing sideways as I address the always-guilty suspect, but that’s also off-topic), I determined that the buzzards were quarreling over the now partially-eviscerated carcass (I’ve spared you that visual detail), and one of them attempted to abscond with the corpse. The others followed and in the dogfight****** that ensued, the cadaver was dropped onto the lawn next to our porch. I’m sure the buzzards would have continued their dinner dispute had I not been present, but instead they continued to circle overhead for a while until they peeled off, one by one, in search of other roadkill.

And, of course, I was left with the wholesome task of disposing of the now-defunct Otospermophilus variegatus. I accomplished that by scooping it up with a shovel and flinging it into the adjoining vacant lot, where the scavengers eventually finished the task.

As a footnote to this story, as if we don’t already have enough footnotes to this story, the next day a hummingbird committed suicide on our back porch by ramming headfirst into one of our windows. I expect Stephen King to show up any day on a research visit for his next novel.

**I’m not sure why a quick trip is often referred to as a “whirlwind,” but if you’re ever traveling in West Texas during the spring, you’ll see (and feel) its relevance. [back]

***So, you’re judging me, aren’t you, for using the term “stamping” instead of “stomping”? For your penance, read this, then go forth and sin no more. [back]

****A group of squirrels is actually referred to as a “scurry.” That explains how Scurry county, in West Texas, got its name, following a mass invasion of squirrels, not unlike the cricket invasion of Mormons in Utah.***** [back]

*****One of the sentences in the preceding paragraph is not 100% accurate.

******Oh, never mind. [back]