RIP Bucky . . . the Furry Mūs

So today in fiction class, Zack had us write three into sentences to this plot:

"A girl about 11-12 years old finds an injured squirrel and cares for it for a year, until her parents decide it's too dangerous to be kept in the house. They make her get rid of it. She takes it to the park where she often took it to play. She watched it scamper off, but left before it came back."

Oh. My. Gosh.
I says, "That's sad; I don't wanna write about that." But - as this epic author often states - "I said it in my head, so nobody heard it but me". I wrote the three he asked for and then - y'all are gonna hate me  for this - but I um, well . . . I sort of killed it. I implied it was probably dead. Squashed. In the road. Uh, yeah.

However!
In "Development of the English Language", we read words in Old English.
Now THAT was fun!
And no, Old English is not Shakespeare. He may be difficult for you to understand, but he actually wrote in Modern English. Modern as in "what we speak now". Yep.

THIS is Old English.

And that is "Beowulf". Epic. Story. You must read it before you die. You must.
(For those who are unaware.)
[Also, mūs up there is Old English for um, well, mouse. It's pretty neat, actually.]