ANDY'S FIRST SQUIRREL HUNT

by Mike Faulk

The heat-wave from Indian summer had finally broken. It was a perfect, cool, late-August morning with an unmistakable hint of the change of seasons to come. The first thermos with strong black coffee had been sealed. As the second was topped off with hot chocolate, a wave of nostalgia overcame me as we prepared to leave for the woods.

As a boy, I associated days like this with two things: school starting and opening day of squirrel season. Volunteer fans everywhere associate the third Saturday of October with the traditional Tennessee-Alabama football rivalry. Squirrel hunters in Tennessee renew their tradition each year on the fourth Saturday of August. This Saturday morning was special as it would not only renew that tradition but also begin a tradition for a new generation.

Anticipation is at least half the thrill of any hunt. The night before this particular squirrel hunt had been no exception. In fact, the anticipation for both Andy and me was extraordinary. His excitement was unbridled.

Before his normal bedtime, he laid out his camouflage outfit. In his bathroom he placed the little jars of face paint nearest his sink. Immediately preceding his “now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep” routine, he repeated his instructions: watch were you step, be quiet, don’t sit down or put your hands on anything without first looking, look for rustling leaves, always stay behind when daddy’s ready to shoot, let dad pick the squirrel up first so we’re sure its dead.

His first trip into my bedroom came less than thirty minutes after I turned out his light. The second came about thirty minutes after I turned off my light. He finally fell asleep just after midnight.

Realizing the importance in showing a new hunter some initial success, I admit I was a bit nervous. Hunting was such a big part of my relationship with my dad during my boyhood years. I surely wanted Andy to have an enjoyable experience fueling his desire to do it again with the old man. But, the attention span of a six year old is limited. I new we’d need to move from tree to tree. There would be no sitting and waiting as usual. We wouldn’t stay out long least he become bored. So we needed to see a few bushy tails in short order.

With his delayed bedtime, I had to balance my inclination to be in the woods just before daybreak with Andy’s biological clock. The late start would diminish our chances for taking a squirrel or two but it would also aid his satisfaction more than would an early awakening.

In the woods by 8a.m., we made our way from walnut to hickory to oak. In less than two hours, we had three squirrels – two gray and one red. Following his instructions to perfection, he waiting until I retrieved the first one. Then he wanted to inspect the animal. Thankfully, there wasn’t much blood. He was most impressed with those front teeth.

I expected there might be a need for some a deep discussion about life and death. I was wrong. He wanted to play with the squirrel like the stuffed animals decorating his bedroom.

True to form, I missed the second squirrel I fired on as it ran around the backside of a limb. I’ll never forget those big blue eyes as he looked up at me. It was the exact same look I get from Jack the black lab when I miss a duck though it was tougher disappointing the little guy than old Jack. Oddly, I worried about his observing, first hand, that Pops isn’t perfect – at least not a perfect shot.

He watched with only minor disgust as I cleaned the first squirrel. I’ll never forget watching dad do the same thing. I ran inside to mom to tattle on my dad for “taking the squirrel’s britches off!”

I quartered the squirrels, put them in a stoneware bowl, covered them with salted water, and refrigerated them for the rest of the afternoon. After parboiling, the quarters were de-boned and the meat returned to fresh water where it was brought to a rolling boil. Opening a small can, I pinched each of the biscuits into pieces and added them to the boiling water to make dumplings. While he wasn’t all that impressed with the food, he was satisfied and ate a six-year old sized bowl of squirrel and dumplings.

With the meal completed, I, too, was sated. The anticipation before our hunt was outstanding. We had a good time together. He enjoyed being with me in the woods. Andy learned several things. We had success. We ate what we killed. We each felt the satisfaction that comes from hunting – an acknowledgement that within our genes is this desire and need.

Just as importantly, opening day tradition had been passed on. Even though he died twelve days after Andy’s birth, Dad’s presence was with us all day long. I felt his smile.