Squirrels are people too

Oh wait, no they're not.

After some harrowing biking adventures, I tried to keep myself biking this week, which began with a ride to campus on Tuesday. A squirrel crossed my path as I was building speed after an intersection and another squirrel, delirious with the thrill of the chase, followed behind on a somewhat frantic path that led him into my wheel.

Don't worry. The squirrel was fine.

Well, I believe he was fine.

I assume he was fine and I assume he was a he. Who ever heard of a female squirrel chasing another squirrel in the springtime?

Seriously, don't ask me. I don't know much about squirrels, but this particular squirrel hit my wheel or tire and scampered around before he reached safety. He seemed a little disoriented, but it's rather hard to tell with squirrels.

I worried about squirrel and felt personally responsible for his pain and possible brain damage. I suspect that he had brain damage, but according to Bill Cosby's definition of brain damage, he already proved to have brain damage by being stupid enough to run into my tire. I can't blame him, though. If I was a squirrel and my significant other wouldn't frolic with me during the festivities of springtime, instead running across the street and leading me into traffic, I might be distracted enough to end up with my head under a tire, or might seek it out.

Still, the squirrel deserves another moment or two. If he scampered off to die quietly of brain hemorrhaging, I wouldn't want my last comment to be my suspicion of his suicidal behavior. On the other hand, I have spent more time thinking about this squirrel than I have about any other, except maybe "Fat Keith" from the park outside the British Museum, or perhaps Eddie Izzard's "Did I leave the gas on?" makeup-wearing squirrels from Dress to Kill. In case you were wondering, I wasn't dressed to kill. I was dressed to play basketball. I didn't even play very well. Legs still tired maybe.

To conclude, I suppose squirrels always think they're choosing cake when they run out into the street during their seasonal frolic. If the choice between cake or death arises, is a squirrel capable of telling the difference? The cake is a lie.