Oh, Nuts! An Ill-Timed Run-In With Rusty

It wasn't my fault that I ran over the squirrel.

I'm a nature lover, not a squirrel runner-overer. But squirrels have some kind of lemminglike gear in their brains that urges them to hurl themselves in front of moving vehicles at every opportunity they get, and by the time I got my hands on the brakes it was --

Oh, wait. Did I forget to mention that I was riding my bike?

I'm really a pretty placid biker. I shun the aggressive yellow-jersey-and-spandex thing. There's enough pain in the world already without middle-aged men sporting elastic shorts.

So, really, it wasn't my fault.

Admittedly, I was going at a pretty good clip for a 40-something lycraphobe when that squirrel darted across the path about 15 feet in front of me by the pond near the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Had I hit my brakes I would have skidded to a halt right beside the animal, trapping it between me and the water. So I kept going in the hope it would freeze in place and I would zoom by without incident.

But little Rusty must have heard the call to go toward the light, because just as I rode up, he lunged. Straight through the spinning spokes of my front wheel.

I braked hard, but the wheel tossed the squirrel into the air. Its furry body whacked against my helmet, a bristly tail for an instant right in my face. When I came to a stop, I turned around to find the squirrel, certain it would be horribly mangled.

I wasn't far wrong. It was crawling slowly toward the woods, pulling its limp hindquarters and spastically flicking tail behind it.

As I stood guiltily over the injured animal, two enraged bystanders rushed up. The first, a man, put his face right into mine.

"Didn't you see him?" he screamed.

Oh, just great, I thought. Not only do I flatten a poor squirrel, but an angry mob gathers to confront me.