That squirrel was my pet for almost a year. He never bit me nor did he give me rabies or some other rodent disease. He sat on my shoulder and watched cartoons with me. He slept in a small, cardboard, box filled with torn-up strips of newspaper.

Then, my Dad decided he belonged with his kind in the wild. We took him miles away, to a place we called the Duck Pond, and set him loose. I was devastated.

The next day, he was on our back porch. I was elated! It was like a Disney movie. Who knows what adventures he had making his way home? But my father was undeterred. The next day, we took him many more miles away and set him free. I never saw him again. For all I know, you or one of your cuntry cuzzins ate him!

I’m sick thinking about you eating squirrel. I’m gonna go eat some chicken. Or maybe some pig. Or maybe some ground-up steer, shaped and formed into a patty and grilled with cheese on top. Maybe, being a country boy and all, you had a pet chicken or pig or cow when you were a kid? If so, did you kill and eat you pet?

I’ll bet you ate bunnies too!