Well, the rest of the story really should be told.
I called V to congratulate her on her pregnancy (I wasn't able to talk to her earlier), and I told her about the dead squirrel on my lawn. She said that I should just wait for Alan to get here, and he'd cook it up. As much as I appreciate Southern cooking, I advised her that cooking a squirrel found belly-up on my lawn might not be such a good idea, since I had no idea how it died. She agreed.
So I then called Angela to with her a HMD (her first official one!), and as we were talking, my family arrived. Alan saw the bag marked "Animal Control," felt the bulges from the outside, and deduced that it was a squirrel. Auntie Milda came into the house to ask what was in the bag, and I confirmed Alan's guess. Alan came into the house to say that I should have waited for him so that he could cook it.
You know, it never crossed my mind as I was scooping up the poor, dead squirrel that perhaps someone would want to eat the thing; certainly not those crows, much less members of my family. Alan told me that back in Arkansas, my grandmother really enjoyed it when he would cook up a squirrel dish for her. I told him that had I known that HE had actually killed the squirrel, I'd feel more comfortable with him taking it to eat, but I had no idea how this particular squirrel died. For all I know, he was poisoned by something, and it hit him while he was on a tree branch, had a heart attack, and fell out of the tree. Alan said that most squirrels die because they're trying to get a nut. I don't know what that means. APPARENTLY, it's Southern humor.
When we had returned from brunch, the bag was gone, so I hope that it was Animal Control that picked it up, and not Alan hiding it in the car while I wasn't looking. ;)