There's a dead squirrel out there, L. said, as we were standing around waiting on the turkey to get done.
I looked out the window. A squirrel was sprawled on the old abandoned picnic table in the woods, but it was hard to imagine something dead being in the position this squirrel was in.
Still, he wasn't moving.
Maybe he fell from a tree, L. suggested.
Nope, he's not dead.
Maybe we're overfeeding the little things.
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