Los Doggies

They come in threes, yes? After the first squirrel, there was bound to be a second, more horrific than the first, and the inevitable third dud of a chipmunk. When the blood smears out there’s always a bubble. Why a bubble? Three times I dragged them by the tail to the side of the road, and three times their death stained my hands. I can feel it still, although I washed the requisite seven times. Death is gross and sticky, horrible to the touch. The second squirrel knows all about this. He wasn’t dead, but his arms were stuck to the pavement. He was stranded in the middle of the street, so I waved two cars past. He would have to move off the road. I would have to touch him. I crept over him and saw his hands were completely severed off. They sat a few feet away from him. He was bleeding out on the road in a puddle of blood. He needed to be peeled off. I picked him up gently by the tail and peeled him off but he struggled, rabidly breaking free and falling down once more, so I picked him up again by the tail and quickly moved him to the woods where I laid him down between the trees and he relaxed a little. Hopefully he moved from the spot and found a nice place to die. I pray he was not alone when he did. My neighbor showed up with a bag to retrieve the squirrel from the road, but I had beaten him to it. I showed him where I’d put the squirrel and he agreed it was goodly done. “He’s where he needs to be now,” the old man said. The squirrel wasn’t there the next day, and although he wasn’t dead, his death stained my hands all the same. What an oddly specific way to die! For diviners of animal symbolism, there is always something to be gleaned from blood bubbles and bone. I always thought my carpal tunnel syndrome was more meaningful; maybe my hands would be severed like in that Ryan Gosling movie—like the second squirrel on the street. Either way I’ll hold death and squeeze out the sap. Let it stain upon the hands. Let the hands fall. Three times. Let down the false death, and bleed as it may.

Please enjoy “Bluebird of Sadness”, inspired by the exotic roadkill along Springtown Road and the sweet kiss of death. Aren’t we all like the handless squirrel in the middle of the road?

This is one of those songs using only Major Seventh chords—the chord of love.