Squirrel Hunting
Roy Edward, my childhood friend, got a new rifle. A brand new lever action, Winchester 22 caliber that looked the world like my uncle’s 30-30 deer rifle. He cut a handsome figure carrying that gun, looking a lot like John Wayne. He even developed a swagger and walk like the Duke. I carried my dad’s old Remington pump 22 caliber. I must admit to a little jealousy. However my old gun worked well, and was accurate.
With all that firepower now in our control, we decided it was time for a squirrel hunt. Saturday morning found us walking through old man Wingren’s pasture, over Long Mountain and down into Morgan Creek with all its pecan bottomland. There, under those towering trees, we just knew there would be a world of squirrels. We hunted, as best two 14 year olds knew how, until noon without even seeing our quarry. I think our casual stomping up the creek may have warned the world of our coming. We sat, leaning against a tree trunk in the thick leaves on the ground, disappointed and hungry. As we sat there quietly, a squirrel peeked around a limb, high in the tree. Roy Edward eased his gun to his shoulder, took careful, aim and shot him. His first victory with his new gun. We were both ecstatic. We quickly dressed the squirrel, built a fire, fastened him on a green stick, and begin cooking our lunch. We cooked and cooked for at least 10 minutes. The flesh began to change color, especially after being dropped intro the ashes a couple of times. We decided our feast was ready. Roy offered me the first bite. I demurred. He bravely took a tiny bite. He quickly passed the lunch to me. With the first bite I realized that a meal cooked without salt and pepper, and such a short time, takes a stronger hunter than me. It was not the tastiest dish to set before the king, and was hardly like our Mother’s Sunday chicken.
Next Saturday found us at the city dump shooting cans and bottles we lined up against a old log. There was no shortage of targets. We didn’t have to field dress them, or try to have them for dinner. And we could shoot till our hearts content, and be home in time to enjoy Mom’s fried chicken.
I don’t know where Dad’s old Remington gun is today. I know I never killed a squirrel with it. I do know that was the last time Roy Edward and I went squirrel hunting. As we said, “Busting bottles, and bouncing tin cans was more fun.”
June 18th, 2009 at 10:16 pm
Amazingly similar to my childhood hunting stories. It never worked out as I fantasized.
July 29th, 2009 at 1:05 am
I recall one day in Alaska one of the new guys had asked to go hunting with me. I was past twenty years and a combat Veteran by then. Most evenings and weekends I spent hunting or fishing, anything to keep my mind from dwelling on the nightmares.
The new guy told me he was hungry so I found us a couple of Spruce Hens. He made his kill, but didn’t take to it, roasted over a wood fire, so I ate both, rather than waste a bird, and led him back to the site.