Because of how squeamish I am, I couldn’t even pull my kid’s baby teeth. And if you happen to be puking in my presence, well you’d better move over because I will be joining you.
It’s definitely a problem to be this way.
Just remember, for your own safety, not to be around me if you scrape your knee or your nose gets bloodied or one of your arms fall off. I can only offer you a couple of words of comfort before I pass out.
I’m definitely not a Red Cross type of chick.
I also hate dead stuff.
Dead mouse on a trap? I will eventually work up the nerve to throw a towel or something over it to cover the deadness. Then I will pretend for years, if necessary, that a dead body isn’t really under the towel.
So anyway, now you know just one more weird something about me.
Hopefully, you will understand why a recent event in my life caused a big snotty meltdown.
Last weekend I was pet sitting three large dogs. Because it was such a beautiful day, I was outside reading a book while they played in the huge fenced yard. When I heard them start to bark like crazy I assumed they were playing too rough again. I put my book aside and got up so I could scold and separate them.
But they were not barking because they were playing around.
They were murdering a sweet little squirrel.
Yes I went a little bit nut cake, running toward them while screaming my head off.
But the deed was done.
The poor little squirrel was dead. Blood was splattered on 12 dog paws.
“Well murderers, I can’t look at any of you right now,” I said in a sharp voice. “You have committed a senseless crime. Thanks to you, I also have to go inside and throw up. Don’t you dare try to follow me, either.”
By the way, cleaning the squirrel DNA off their fur was also a gag festival.
When I went back outside to sit in the sun and calm down after cleaning up a homicide scene, I spotted the squirrel head in the yard. There was no way I could pretend it wasn’t there. I turned right back around and went back in the house.
Less obsessed with witnessing an incident straight out of “Wild Kingdom,” I let them out to play later in the afternoon.
Everything was fine until I called them to come back inside.
And you know what happened, don’t you?
Yes, one of the killers came traipsing toward me with the squirrel head in his mouth.
“Oh my God, put that down!” I was hysterically blocking the door so he couldn’t get in.
I was in full freak-out mode, scared to death that the dog would touch me with his bloody trophy.
“Put it down!” I ordered. “Put that dead head down right this minute!”
He cocked his head, not understanding why in the world his babysitter was yelling and gagging between words.
I am still recovering from the trauma and still heaving from the flashbacks.
Sherri Coner is an award-winning journalist and humor writer who speaks to women’s groups. To learn about her books for women and to join her on Facebook, visit www.sherriconer.com.