justalonewolf007
Member
- Apr 30, 2007
- 657
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This story is pretty brutal. So if you like squirrels, or are a vegetarian by nature, or are a member of PETA, or extremely squeamish and faint at the mental picture of blood, or anti hunting, or any sort of tree or animal hugger, you are required by law of my request and warning to hit the back button and not continue reading this.
After short commentary between Mama Stoker (fatcat---uhmIdon'tremembertherestofthenumbers/letters) and I about squirrels, I wrote her this reply...
Also readers, picture yourselves a couple months back, on a gorgeously nice sunny afternoon in northern Minnesota, standing in a farmyard out in the country, with a few run down buildings, a couple nice sheds, some silos, and a half built house.
"I have a particularly horrible (I might have laughed so hard I almost cried about it) story about them.
First off, DISCLAIMER!!!! I have to mention that I am not a fan of gruesome things...but find them occasionally necessary. Squirrels are pests around here, and we have high populations of them. They are big and reddish gray (Fox squirrel variety)...and always making messes in buildings.
When I was 8-14 years old, I had one of those sweet as sugar high-power slingshots. I got pretty good with it, and occasionally managed to take a squirrel or two with a well placed rock. Usually the dog or cats were right there to take care of the rest of things.
Not too long ago, I picked up a beautiful little .22 rifle. I mean, seriously, that little gun is just plain old gorgeous and fits me perfectly! I put a scope on it, and got things mostly lined up so that I was getting fairly accurate on a target. I happen to love shooting by the way, not quite as much as a good ride on my faithful dirtbike, but it is still a pretty enjoyable pastime.
I had a friend (I call him Armyboy) come out to help me get things really fine tuned. I also recruited him to help me get rid of some pesky squirrels that had taken up residence in my barn. He readily agreed, and offered to teach me how to skin and cook one. I hesitantly, but curiously accepted.
Half way through the fine tuning process, one of the furry reddish gray culprits handily showed up! "Le Gasp, let's get it!" It couldn't have been a more perfect shot. No buildings in the background (or foreground), no branches in the way, and it was even pretty close. I lined up, and pulled the trigger. The gun did it's usual thing, but the squirrel didn't move. I figured that I had better try again, and did. It was just hanging there on the face of the tree. I took another pause and deep breath before lifting the gun to my shoulder again, thinking something along the lines of: "Ahhh....shouldn't this thing be falling down or something?"
I got kinda impatient and shot it about four more times until it finally dropped to the ground (quite dead). At this point, Armyboy giggles and says that I had killed it with the first shot, and that they have this sweet reflex that makes them cling on to the tree for a few extra moments, even after they are no longer alive.
We took trophy pictures, and began the skinning process, quite interesting, and only a little yucky. Armyboy put out some good machismo-ey action by using a pretty huge and fancy and very sharp K-BAR military knife. At one point, you stand on the tail and pull on the hide, effectively turning things sorta inside out, and the fur/skin coming off the rest.
In the quiet stillness of the country evening, Armyboy suddenly fell backwards to the ground, guts and gore and blood flying everywhere. When all settled down, he was sitting there holding the upper half of a squirrel. His machismo was slightly damaged by the event.
"Uhm...that wasn't supposed to happen."
"I think I put too many holes in it?"
"You did."
At that point, things seemed quite hilarious because Armyboy was sitting in the mud, half covered in mud and squirrel carnage, holding the pathetic, mostly inside out upper body of a red fox squirrel, with it's arms still reaching out as if it was being sucked into some invisible wormhole.
We were both in tears well before the laughter had stopped."
After short commentary between Mama Stoker (fatcat---uhmIdon'tremembertherestofthenumbers/letters) and I about squirrels, I wrote her this reply...
Also readers, picture yourselves a couple months back, on a gorgeously nice sunny afternoon in northern Minnesota, standing in a farmyard out in the country, with a few run down buildings, a couple nice sheds, some silos, and a half built house.
"I have a particularly horrible (I might have laughed so hard I almost cried about it) story about them.
First off, DISCLAIMER!!!! I have to mention that I am not a fan of gruesome things...but find them occasionally necessary. Squirrels are pests around here, and we have high populations of them. They are big and reddish gray (Fox squirrel variety)...and always making messes in buildings.
When I was 8-14 years old, I had one of those sweet as sugar high-power slingshots. I got pretty good with it, and occasionally managed to take a squirrel or two with a well placed rock. Usually the dog or cats were right there to take care of the rest of things.
Not too long ago, I picked up a beautiful little .22 rifle. I mean, seriously, that little gun is just plain old gorgeous and fits me perfectly! I put a scope on it, and got things mostly lined up so that I was getting fairly accurate on a target. I happen to love shooting by the way, not quite as much as a good ride on my faithful dirtbike, but it is still a pretty enjoyable pastime.
I had a friend (I call him Armyboy) come out to help me get things really fine tuned. I also recruited him to help me get rid of some pesky squirrels that had taken up residence in my barn. He readily agreed, and offered to teach me how to skin and cook one. I hesitantly, but curiously accepted.
Half way through the fine tuning process, one of the furry reddish gray culprits handily showed up! "Le Gasp, let's get it!" It couldn't have been a more perfect shot. No buildings in the background (or foreground), no branches in the way, and it was even pretty close. I lined up, and pulled the trigger. The gun did it's usual thing, but the squirrel didn't move. I figured that I had better try again, and did. It was just hanging there on the face of the tree. I took another pause and deep breath before lifting the gun to my shoulder again, thinking something along the lines of: "Ahhh....shouldn't this thing be falling down or something?"
I got kinda impatient and shot it about four more times until it finally dropped to the ground (quite dead). At this point, Armyboy giggles and says that I had killed it with the first shot, and that they have this sweet reflex that makes them cling on to the tree for a few extra moments, even after they are no longer alive.
We took trophy pictures, and began the skinning process, quite interesting, and only a little yucky. Armyboy put out some good machismo-ey action by using a pretty huge and fancy and very sharp K-BAR military knife. At one point, you stand on the tail and pull on the hide, effectively turning things sorta inside out, and the fur/skin coming off the rest.
In the quiet stillness of the country evening, Armyboy suddenly fell backwards to the ground, guts and gore and blood flying everywhere. When all settled down, he was sitting there holding the upper half of a squirrel. His machismo was slightly damaged by the event.
"Uhm...that wasn't supposed to happen."
"I think I put too many holes in it?"
"You did."
At that point, things seemed quite hilarious because Armyboy was sitting in the mud, half covered in mud and squirrel carnage, holding the pathetic, mostly inside out upper body of a red fox squirrel, with it's arms still reaching out as if it was being sucked into some invisible wormhole.
We were both in tears well before the laughter had stopped."
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