How far south you live is got a lot to do with it, as well as how poor you were.I remember back years ago, when ammo was a luxury item,we managed to keep bearly enough on hand for a squirrel or two every now and then.
Then the economy got even worse,and we had to cut back some more.What we did then was,wait till two squirrels lined up on a tree and take both of them with one shot,saving a bullet.
That worked really well,till the Preacher ate with us one Sunday.Once he left,Moma hit the ceiling."I ain't never been so embarassed in all my life,having to serve the preacher them blowed up squirrels.
They was shot up so bad, the poor preacher couldn't tell whether he was eating squirrel,rabbit or chicken, that I've never learned how to cut up, and its anybody's guess which piece of chicken it is.Dang,after I put them in the frying pan,if I had not seen the hide on them when you boys was skinning them,I wouldna node what they was either.
And now I have to face all those wimens at church,that know how to cut up recognizable chicken pieces
Boy was she mad,and we were standing there trying to think of what to do now?We had to have meat. Then, a great big smile came over her mouth (What a relief) I got it she says,even though we will be losing one squirrel per shot,(we had been killing two),You boys go back to killing just one squirrel per shot
Not meaning to make her think I was sasin her,(a no no especially when four walls had you blocked in) I asked Moma,well won"t that one bullet make the squirrel still look blowed up? Lord have mercy,do I have to tell you boys every thing? Can'tcha remember nothing? Sure the bullet will blow up the squirrel,IF it hits him,.. DANG
Dont hit him!I meant for you to go back to barking them,like you were, back when you was killing one per shot,when the economy was much better, and we could afford a miss once in a while.
We still can't afford a miss,but I'll let a few slide,just to see the look on the Preachers face,when he recognizes what it is we feeding him,and the next Sunday when he's behind the pulpit,going on and on about how good that food was I cooked,I'll just slowly turn to see,the look on them Church wimens faces.
Bet they will be green with envy,that is, if the green envy can cut through all that face paint,lipstick,eye shadow and purple hair.I'm so excited,I can hardly wait till next Sunday.
I'm temped to go to Wednesday night prayer meeting,but so an so said they drove past the church last Wednesday night and hardly a soul was there.Which they could have over looked a few.They were driving kinda fast,so if the Preacher happened to look out the window,he couldn't recognize their car.
That's all they need,the Preacher spots them as they whis by,and They thought next Sunday was their turn to feed the preacher.I told them they could thank me for that, and breath a sigh of relief,because I erased their name, and rote down mine,because,I'm really looking forward to feeding him again the next Sunday.That thought about Wednesday services went out the window.I ain't blowing my cooking speech,from the preacher on them 4 or five religious fanatics,that go to church more than the preacher.
I didn't tell them,,but not as much as I'm looking for the next Sunday,thats when he's gunna tell the whole church bout my cooking.,Hope they have to put chairs in the isles,because of a packed house.And Lord God Almighty,don't let nothing happen to the churches PA system, and them loud speakers that we bought with them raffel ticket donations, we sold to folks hoping to win a quilt
Just between ya'll and me' there won't never a quilt no how,and every thing was going good,till that big mouth Bertha Jones spilt the beans to a lawyers wife that had already bought a ticket from someone else.She started making a bunch of telephone calls,and we got scared and went to buy a quilt,but had get and electric blanket,about twice the price.Then we hurried over to the lawyers house,and announced with fake smiles,the lady was the prize winner.And when she seen it was an electric blanket she was thrilled.Enough hopefully she wont press no charges.
Southern enough that "barking" squirrels too often gets kinda boring.
Barking a squirrel,is shooting a single bullet close enough to a squirrels head,that the squirrel dies from brain hemorrhage,and no outwards signs of damage on the squirrel can be found.And when you take his suit off,he still looks a might squirrelly, and not blowed up. The End
