Arkie John
Active member
I know some of you folks shudder at the thought of eating squirrels. But when I was growing up, squirrel was a regular part of our diet. Mother made the best fried squirrel, or even squirrel and dumplings.
But I have to admit, during the past 15 years or so, my appetite has waned a bit, for the taste of squirrel. I believe I have eaten it just once during that time frame.
Well, now, let me tell you about a little problem I've been havin'. I have a slight infestation of squirrels in my wood shop. They can make one heck of a mess. After cleaning up their messes, here lately I have declared informal war on the critters.
Here on the Hilltop, we are overrun with these things. Usually, I have to catch Virginia away from the place before I can "thin them out" a little. But something happened today out of the ordinary. She actually placed an order for six each...for fried squirrel later in the week.
I was delighted. It had been raining for several hours and just was starting to slack. I donned my vest, camo hat and shirt, armed myself with the Winchester 22 that Daddy bought in 1948--the one I killed my FIRST squirrel with at the ripe old age of six.
So the ole boy got his stuff together and set out on a sho-nuff squirrel hunt. As time went by I was able to pop a couple or three and felt sure I could finish the order before dark. I sat down under a tree, waiting for one of the "tree rats" to make a break for it. Being a lull in the action, my mind drifted back to a little hunt that Daddy and I had at Ferguson's Ranch in 1973.
Earlier that year I had purchased a Browning semi-automatic 22 long rifle pistol. It had a ten-shot clip, I think and a six-inch barrel for sure. For some reason, that day I decided I would use my pistol to squirrel hunt with. Daddy just grinned and said, "you're actually gonna USE that thang to kill squirrels?????" I nodded to the affirmative.
So we split up. Daddy went up this creek he had chosen and I went down the creek. Just before we parted company, the ole' man looked at me, shook his head and grinned like a jackass eatin' cactus and said, "I'll eat any squirrel RAW that you kill with that pistol, boy."
Okay, okay, I was really takin' a razin' from Daddy but I didn't care really. I had practiced with the pistol and thought I had a chance of killin' one or maybe two.
As the hunt progressed, I heard Daddy's 22 rifle report as he made his way up the creek. "He must have a sack full," I thought. I ran a couple of the critters to den trees with little to show for my effort. Then I saw one take flight...waaayyy up in the top of a 60-foot pin oak. "Rat tat tat tat tat tattt" went the pistol with nary a hair. I reloaded.
As time went on, my luck changed a little. I stalked a loud-mouthed squirrel that had a touch of curiosity about him. It was his undoing. Three shots and he was on the ground. One down. It wasn't long I had another and soon a third. I was hopin' Daddy would hear my pistol and wonder. As it turned out, he never heard ANY of my shooting.
So you can imagine the surprise on his face when he pulled a total of four squirrels from my vest and laid them out on the ground next to his six. Then he remembered what he had told me. He gave me a funny look. "What Papa?" He sighed and said, "You got any gravy to go with those sons of bitches?"
We just laughed, as we sacked 'em all up and headed for the truck. It had been a good mornin' for sure. I never went squirrel hunting with that pistol again. But that day was a barrel of fun...and a fleeting jewel of a memory that came back to me just today...after thirty-two years.
Can you imagine that?
Back to the here and now, I wound up with half an order. However, Virginia is giving another evening to fill the bill. I'm gonna do my best. Anybody for supper this week?
Thanks for comin' along. <><
But I have to admit, during the past 15 years or so, my appetite has waned a bit, for the taste of squirrel. I believe I have eaten it just once during that time frame.
Well, now, let me tell you about a little problem I've been havin'. I have a slight infestation of squirrels in my wood shop. They can make one heck of a mess. After cleaning up their messes, here lately I have declared informal war on the critters.
Here on the Hilltop, we are overrun with these things. Usually, I have to catch Virginia away from the place before I can "thin them out" a little. But something happened today out of the ordinary. She actually placed an order for six each...for fried squirrel later in the week.
I was delighted. It had been raining for several hours and just was starting to slack. I donned my vest, camo hat and shirt, armed myself with the Winchester 22 that Daddy bought in 1948--the one I killed my FIRST squirrel with at the ripe old age of six.
So the ole boy got his stuff together and set out on a sho-nuff squirrel hunt. As time went by I was able to pop a couple or three and felt sure I could finish the order before dark. I sat down under a tree, waiting for one of the "tree rats" to make a break for it. Being a lull in the action, my mind drifted back to a little hunt that Daddy and I had at Ferguson's Ranch in 1973.
Earlier that year I had purchased a Browning semi-automatic 22 long rifle pistol. It had a ten-shot clip, I think and a six-inch barrel for sure. For some reason, that day I decided I would use my pistol to squirrel hunt with. Daddy just grinned and said, "you're actually gonna USE that thang to kill squirrels?????" I nodded to the affirmative.
So we split up. Daddy went up this creek he had chosen and I went down the creek. Just before we parted company, the ole' man looked at me, shook his head and grinned like a jackass eatin' cactus and said, "I'll eat any squirrel RAW that you kill with that pistol, boy."
Okay, okay, I was really takin' a razin' from Daddy but I didn't care really. I had practiced with the pistol and thought I had a chance of killin' one or maybe two.
As the hunt progressed, I heard Daddy's 22 rifle report as he made his way up the creek. "He must have a sack full," I thought. I ran a couple of the critters to den trees with little to show for my effort. Then I saw one take flight...waaayyy up in the top of a 60-foot pin oak. "Rat tat tat tat tat tattt" went the pistol with nary a hair. I reloaded.
As time went on, my luck changed a little. I stalked a loud-mouthed squirrel that had a touch of curiosity about him. It was his undoing. Three shots and he was on the ground. One down. It wasn't long I had another and soon a third. I was hopin' Daddy would hear my pistol and wonder. As it turned out, he never heard ANY of my shooting.
So you can imagine the surprise on his face when he pulled a total of four squirrels from my vest and laid them out on the ground next to his six. Then he remembered what he had told me. He gave me a funny look. "What Papa?" He sighed and said, "You got any gravy to go with those sons of bitches?"
We just laughed, as we sacked 'em all up and headed for the truck. It had been a good mornin' for sure. I never went squirrel hunting with that pistol again. But that day was a barrel of fun...and a fleeting jewel of a memory that came back to me just today...after thirty-two years.
Can you imagine that?
Back to the here and now, I wound up with half an order. However, Virginia is giving another evening to fill the bill. I'm gonna do my best. Anybody for supper this week?
Thanks for comin' along. <><
.