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A huntin' I
will go,
A huntin' I will go
I'll catch a little fox,
And put him in a box
And then I'll let him go.
This little
ditty I learned to sing as a child was my idea of what hunting was all
about. But, then I learned it was a whole 'nother story.
Thomas and I had been married less than a year when squirrel-hunting
season came around. Thomas loved hunting and had done so since he was
about 10 years old. He asked if I would like to go along to his uncle's
place and I said yes.
My Grandpa was an avid hunter. He supplied various game for the table.
I always left the house when he came home with a full sack of game.
Grandma didn't want me to see the dead animals
for fear I would cry as I did over the chickens she served. Now that
you know this about me, are you surprised I agreed to go hunting?
It was to be a big adventure for me. I was all grown up and could face
seeing the dead squirrels. Oh yeah!
We stopped at Crenshaw's cafe and had a hearty "Hunter's Special"
breakfast. Thus fortified, we drove to the uncle's farm. Parking the
car, we had to get our gear, guns, ammo, game bag, knives, water, etc.
Looking a lot like commandos, we left the car and began our trek to the
"best spot in the woods.”
It was beautiful and serene among the stately trees. The floor of the
forest was carpeted with leaves of many colors and lots more hung on to
the trees. The air was crisp and cool. My jacket felt warm and cozy.
We made our way to a small knoll some distance away. Once we were
settled, Thomas admonished me to sit very still and remain quiet. No
talking or moving about. In less than fifteen minutes we sighted a
squirrel in the fork of a tree. Thomas quietly raised his gun to his
shoulder and fired. It was deafening and scared the heck out of me.
Thomas asked if I wanted to go retrieve the squirrel. I asked if he was
sure it was dead. I didn't want to find a wounded animal.
He assured
me it was a head shot, so it was dead. Feeling like a pioneer woman
helping provide food for the table, I cautiously picked my way to the
old Hickory Nut tree where I had last seen the squirrel. I found the
squirrel, lying almost at the very base of the tree. It was indeed dead
and very pathetic looking. I picked up the small body, cradling it in
my hands. It was warm. His fur was soft and his tail so grand and
bushy. I thought of him sitting on a limb just minutes earlier, singing
his little chirring song while holding a nut. Now he was gone, never to
run up a tree or munch on a nut again. My heart broke while tears ran
in rivulets down my cheeks. I looked around, found a flat stone, and
began to dig. The earth was soft and I made a hole in short time. I
placed the poor thing in the hole and pushed the soil over him. Thomas
could see me from the hill, but didn't know what I was doing. He came
to check on me. There was dirt and leaves on my clothes. My face was
streaked with tears. He asked what I was doing. I replied I was giving
the squirrel a decent burial since it was dead.
Thomas finished burying the squirrel. He took me by the hand and led me
to the knoll. We gathered the gear in silence and proceeded to the car.
I sat looking out the window, still thinking about the death of the
squirrel. Not a word was uttered until we were half way home. Thomas
finally spoke. Clearing his throat he said, "This is your first and
last hunting trip. It is also my last."
"Are you quitting because of how I acted back at the woods?" I asked.
"Nope." Thomas said. "It's just that I know now I would have to do all
the cooking.
By the way, how do you feel about a dead fish?" He grinned. |
