Defending Mojo -- A Short Story

Last night, as I always do, I let Mojo out to do his business before we all retire for the night.  It was pitch black dark out there.  As Mojo -- who, as you know, is also pitch black dark -- got to the bottom of the steps he took off like a rocket in pursuit of some moving object.  I suspected a deer.  Although I worry about his dashing out into a dark street and go unseen by passing motorists, I knew he would return  -- at some point.  And, sure enough he did, about ten minutes later.  Seemed innocent enough.  He came in to the house without any indication that anything other than an innocent chase had occurred.  He slept well.

This morning, as we were about to head to the beach, I got to the bottom of the steps from our deck, and there at the bottom was a dead squirrel.  I looked at Mojo who just looked back at me with a clueless, vacant stare.  As if he were suggesting he knew nothing about this incident.  Could he have done this?  Dare I consider the possibility that this loving dog, this tail wagging, lighthearted creature could have committed cold blooded murder?  I tried to banish the thought.  Maybe the squirrel had fallen to the ground from the bird feeder we had attached to our living room window which I knew from first hand observation was a very popular place for the local squirrel population to hang out.  Maybe this one had lost his footing and landed awkwardly killing him instantly.  Maybe, in a fit of piggishness, the squirrel had gorged himself to extreme at the bird feeder buffet and had died from over consumption.  Or, was there another, darker, explanation?

We walked to the beach, Mojo seemingly without a care in the world peeing to his heart's content, pulling me onward knowing where we were going.  But, in my head, I kept going back to the scene we had just left wondering, wondering.  There were no witnesses to this incident.  Evidence was merely circumstantial.  There were other plausible explanations.  No jury could convict him, could it?

I hesitated, but upon our return home, I decided to bag up the squirrel and toss him in the garbage.   But, I agonized.  Was I covering up a crime?  Was I tampering with state's evidence?  Was I now an accessory?!

I decided not to tell Lily.  Some things are left better unsaid.  

But, I am left to wonder.