Mirror, Mirror by David W Henderson:
As Abby sang “Hakuna Matata,” it darted into the road from the underbrush. Should I swerve? I held my breath. My indecision thrust the vehicle forward. It sat on its haunches and turned toward me. Disappearing from view beneath my hood, it darted leftward. The steering wheel wiggled against a small bump. “Thudathump” echoed from the rocker panel. In the rearview, I saw the small, furry grey squirrel lying in the road – tail raised stiffly in surrender.
“Did you kill him, Daddy,” my daughter asked from the rear seat as our eyes met in the mirror.