Short story: You Never See A Dead Squirrel By Karl Whitney - - - - “Where were you?” She knew where I was. I had been around the corner sitting at the bar, talking with Jim and Frank. We had been talking about how you never see dead squirrels. “You just don’t see them,” Frank says. “Have you ever seen a dead squirrel?” “I saw one once, spread all bloody at the side of the road,” Jim says. “Yeah?” Frank says. “Okay, what did it look like?” “Well, like a squirrel” “Hah! And what do squirrels look like?” “You know, grey, with white and black stripes down their backs.” “That’s a skunk,” I say. “That’s not a skunk,” Frank says. “There are no skunks in Dublin, they’re in other countries.” “Like France,” says Jim. “What?” We all look at each other. “Skunks. France. You know: Pepe le Peu.” “I can’t believe you’re let out on your own,” Frank says. “Every time I see you I expect the men in white coats to come chasing after you with a big net.” “Well… they don’t. So there.” “Badgers,” says Frank to Jim. “You saw a badger on the side of the road all squished.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “You sure?” “I’m sure.” “How can you be sure…” Jim says. “Because I am.” “...That it’s not a skunk,” Jim says. “Because they live in France. I thought you solved that one,” Frank says. “And it’s not a squirrel?” “Because you never see a dead squirrel,” Frank says. -------- Stories | Home | About This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.