If you identified the objects embedded in my tire as porcupine quills, you’d win a prize. If there was one. Which there isn’t.
Perhaps the fact I find this picture amusing brands me as hard-hearted and insensitive. If so, my immediate family shares the same affliction(s). If you’re offended by our amusement, let me assure you we do not find the death of any living creature laughable. It’s the existence and location of the undisputed evidence as to this particular porcupine’s demise that struck our funny bones.
I’m not the guilty party – nor will I identify which of my sons is the porcupine assassin. He feels badly enough for having smoked that critter. (Last summer another of my sons was responsible for the death of a wild turkey on the highway. We left a blizzard of feathers in our wake.)
Further amusement was provided for my sons courtesy of yours truly. When they began pulling the porcupine quills out of my tire, my worry-prone tendencies (crazies?) kicked in.
“Hey, don’t remove them – my tire might deflate!”
Eye rolls, grins and groans of, “Oh, Mom…”