I Don't Think Lazarus is the only one that's sick?

“Larry! Hurry come out here to the backyard, I think the dog just killed a baby squirrel,” I screamed.
I could see the annoyed look in his eyes, as he turned the corner, hopping on one foot, while slipping his yard shoe on the other. “Donna, that’s a full grown squirrel and it looks like it’s been here a few hours. Look at the red bugs on his nose.”
“Fine, whatever, but he’s still breathing. What are we going to do?”
After thirty-five years, we’ve seen this movie before. I’m totally unreasonable about the cycle of life in nature, and he’s totally trapped in my plan to save and protect God’s furry friends.
“Donna, my office is closed today, because the stock market’s closed. Remember, we were going to get up early, mow, rake, and spruce-up the backyard, get cleaned-up, go to Good Friday services, and then come home and take Zipporah for a walk. Remember?”
“Husband, look at this little face."

"NOT MINE!"

"Look, the squirrel’s eyes have a deep, dark gaze. His heart is pounding. He seems paralyzed in fear…have you ever seen anything like it?” I ask, now sitting in the grass, next to the sickly squirrel. “What do you really think happened to the little guy ?”
“Maybe he just read the Healthcare Bill?” Larry deadpans.
“Good God, “I shout, “are you gonna start?”
“Donna! Don’t say that today; this is Holy week after all. And no, I’m not gonna start, I was just making a suggestion. Listen sweetie,” he continues, now sitting by my side, looking at the still critter, clinging to life, “you and your family have such unnatural expectations of nature. This is a squirrel, not a relative and you can’t give it human emotions. I know it makes you sad, but things get sick and die all the time in the wild. It’s part of life. Right?”
“No Husband, no so much right!” I snap. “And just because your people think nothing of buying, naming, and raising little bunnies or lambs and the next thing you know, they’re serving Flopsy stew out of a camouflaged crock pot….”
“No Husband…just because Italians are civilized and don’t want to get emotionally attached to their meals, does not make us unrealistic.

It makes us normal!”
Slowly, Larry stood from our death watch on the lawn, lowering his sunglasses he looks into my determined eyes, and firmly pinches his lips together with his thumb and forefinger.
“And what’s that all about? “ I ask.
“I know how this ends, “ he grimaces, “I say something about your family, you get your feelings hurt, the damn tree rat dies, and before you know it….two innocent men are crucified today!’ The squirrel and I hold our ground.
“Come on, “he concedes, “I’ll go get some gloves and a soft towel and you go get that medicine dropper and some warm water. Let’s see what we can do.”
“Thanks Husband! But I’ll wait here until you get back,

so nothing gets to Little Lazarus while we’re both gone.”
“Little Lazarus? You’ve named that dying, tree rat Little Lazarus?”
“Uh, huh,” I answer proudly, my glare now piercing his UV protected shades.
“That’s just beautiful…Jeezzzus Christ!” he exclaims, walking toward the garage.
“HEY, hey, watch your mouth,” I parrot, “Remember it’s Holy Week!”
“Yes, it’s Holy Week,” he agrees, “and if this Lazarus doesn’t rise from the dead, you’re going to worry and sulk and make me nuts. DONNA! Where’s that medicine dropper?”
“I'm going. I'm going, " I respond,

"Maybe I ought to call the Squirrel Rescue place we took Simon and Garfunkel to? Ya think?”
“You mean the people we took those orphaned baby squirrels to in the middle of the night? The free healthcare clinic that required fifty bucks an animal as a mandatory donation? All so they could release them at a supposed free-range squirrel sanctuary? You’re really going to fall for that again?” he scowls.
Little Lazarus is getting weaker and though his extremities can move and he doesn’t seem frightened or uncomfortable, it’s obvious he’s not long for this earth.
“Husband, we have to do something! I’m not going to sit here and argue. I’m going to go Google search the squirrel rescue and see if anything else comes up. Do you think I ought to see if our Vet’s office is open? What should I do? You must have some ideas…you do watch the Animal Planet channel all the time?” I persist.
Larry is obviously irritated.
His eyes beginning to resemble Lazarus’ blank stare, “Donna…honey…I think this animal is dying, but you do whatever you need to do and I’ll support you. Call the squirrel shysters, check the Internet, call the dog’s vet, hell….call Oral Roberts! Just please let me get some yard work done before I have to be a paw-bearer and dispose of this poor creature. Please!”
“Ok, alright….I’m going to start calling, but suppose that rescue place only takes baby squirrels?
Suppose they won’t take Lazarus because he’s really sick?
Suppose they say no?” I processed aloud, “Or that he’s not eligible. What should I say then?”
“Donna,” he says, patting my face, with his yard work-gloved hand,” try telling them he had a pre-existing condition!”