In my driving career, I haven’t run over many animals. However, I have seen many beings who are just asking for their lives to be ended.

Usually these animals are the obvious ones. You have squirrels darting inexplicably across traffic just at that moment when you drive by. They know you’re the only car and they could either go easily before you get there, or just wait a second until you pass. But no, they try to dash in between your tires.

You have the lesser-seen rabbits and frogs that end up smashed on the highway. Raccoons and skunks join the flattened squad as well. And of course there are deer.

But an armadillo? That’s what I was treated to on my way to work this morning. I briefly considered that it was before 4 a.m. and I may have been delirious. But after some further reflection, I definitely had to swerve around an armadillo. I say swerve because they are apparently the only animal that makes zero attempt to get out of the way. Maybe it thought it’s armor-looking shell was going to protect it from a Nissan at 50 mph.

The beast just slowly walked across the lane, and in the rear-view mirror I saw him go into the next lane. The car there actually came to a complete stop. That’s only lucky armadillo.

Ahh, squirrel season. It’s the time of year where the furry little rodents are running around more than usual, dodging more cars and frantically searching for the last morsels of food they can store away for the upcoming winter season.

We have several in our yard that spend all day hopping around the grass, picking stuff up, putting it down, picking up some more and burying it in the ground. But they’re all big squirrels.

Where are the baby squirrels?

Apparently, they exist in some form. Google has 2.87 million results for “baby squirrels,” though most of the sites are guides for how to care for a baby squirrel should you find one in desperate need of medical attention.

So someone is seeing them, just not me or really anyone I’ve ever had a squirrel-related conversation with. And after attending four years at a rural educational institution overrun with the darn things, it’s not like I’m just looking in the wrong place.

The only logical conclusion is that baby squirrels are kept in some kind of commune. If a baby squirrel is found—a la the 2.87 million Google findings—it is only because they A) got lost on the way to the commune or B) violated the laws of the commune and were evicted.

Getting lost is easy. After all, have you ever been to a commune? Know where one is? Exactly. They are highly secretive and are designed not to be found, especially those created by and for animals with big bushy tails.

What you certainly don’t hear about is all the drinking and general carousing that goes on in these places. Believe it or not, the United States does not have a minimum drinking age for squirrels. That’s right, no drinking age. They start getting hammered at 2-3 weeks old, long before their body is ready to handle the sweet nectar physically, and certainly before they can handle the responsibility.

We all know that underage drinking leads to many problems, not the least of which include fighting, urinating in your friend’s bedroom, getting written on with a Sharpie and Communism. The same things happen in the squirrel world, though the Sharpie writings are harder to see on the fur. All of these offenses are grounds for dismissal from the baby squirrel commune.

Then there’s the other ways to get kicked out: Theft, assault, illegal downloading, dying another’s tail fur, dying your own tail fur, headstands, attempted flying, eating the last of the Cheerios, not mopping behind the refrigerator, not flossing after eating and last but not least, double-dipping acorns in the salsa.

With all of those rules, it’s a wonder any of the squirrels can live happy lives there. Probably explains the high roadway-suicide rate.