Death of a squirrel

This is the story of a hapless wee squirrel. A stuffed wee squirrel, bought for Ted while on vacation down AT the shore (the AT in that phrase carries a significance only you right coasters will understand), in an attempt to provide him with one more toy than the single stinky duck that he singularly loves. So, once Tessa fell asleep on the couch (I didn't actually have to wait very long for this to happen) I brought out the squirrel and presented it to Ted. Tessa just KNEW something was up, and the rest is history.


What do you have there? A new creature? A squeaky creature? I'll have that, thankyouverymuch. I must make sure it's dead.






Hey! She took my squ-- Hm, my butt itches.










I will soon rid the house of the squeaking creature! Resistance is futile.







Sigh. When are the snacks?







Don't worry. Ted may look quite pitiful in that last picture but I assure you that he got over the theft of his squirrel within three seconds and is much happier scratching his butt and looking for snacks than de-squeakifying small woodland creatures. He leaves that to Tessa. And yes, the fun never does end around here.