Once upon a time (yesterday morning to be exact), there was a little squirrel. He liked to run and play, and since he lived in Florida, he liked to climb palm trees.
Now, when he was a young squirrel, his mother told him to be careful of the great birds in the sky. For though most of the birds wouldn’t, the evil ones would eat the guts from his very belly.
The days went by, and the squirrel forgot his mother’s warning. He knew that on the other side of the driveway sweet nuts grew. So, the little squirrel ran across the pavement, intent only on his treat, and before he knew it, a great bird had struck him dead. The bird’s mother had told him that squirrel gizzards were the tastiest treat. And the bird ate the little squirrel’s guts first, only looking up when an unsuspecting human tried to get into their car and ran away screaming when the bird dragged the squirrel away by its entrails.
Thus ends the sad tale of the squirrel. And my love of birds.