The boys were playing catch by the curb when a speeding Mustang driven by a heedless teenager nailed the fox squirrel.
As the Mustang sped off, the stricken animal hauled itself on its front legs to the curb and quivered.
The car had completely crushed its hindquarters, and the poor creature was bleeding from the mouth and shaking with pain and suffering.
The boys looked at the squirrel and then at one another.
They were both 11, and it was the last day of summer vacation, and they did not know what to do.
“Maybe,” the one named Robbie said, “we should put it in a box and take it to the vet.”
“Nah,” the one named Billie said, “it’s hurt too bad. I think we should do something, you know, to put it out of its misery.”
“You mean: kill it or something?”
“Yeah, Robbie, kill it or something.”
“But how?”
Robbie and Billie looked at one another and then at the squirrel that was dying an agonizing death at their feet.
Finally Robbie was able to say: “My dad has a hunting rifle, but he’d kill me if I even looked at it twice.”
“What about a sledge hammer or something?”
“Yeah, there’s one in the garage,” Robbie said.
“Well,” Billie said, “why don’t you go and get it, and we’ll, you know-“
“Why don’t you get it, and we’ll, you know-“
They were driving around that rhetorical circle when a Ford pickup braked right before them and a man stepped out and said: “You boys can’t stand here and let this squirrel suffer like this.”
Robbie and Billie explained what had happened and what they planned to do, and then the man said: “No. It ends here. Now.”
And with that he delivered a killing blow to the squirrel’s head with the heel of his work boot. “Now you boys give it a proper burial,” he said, returning to his truck.
As he drove off at a safe and sensible speed, Robbie looked at Billie and said: “My dad also has a shovel in the garage, and-“
Needless to say, they learned a hard lesson that last day of summer vacation, and then they did the next right thing.