HAMLET – The beginning of my life-long quest to become a quail hunter began when I was six years old. About the month before Christmas, my mind was not focused on ABC’s, See Spot Run or 2 + 2 = 4, but on only one thing – a new Daisy Red Ryder BB gun. Some of the older boys in the neighborhood already had them and lust was on my mind. Finally, Christmas day arrived and there it was!
It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Of course I had to endure the lecture of “don’t ever point it at anyone,” “you can put out someone’s eye,” and “you don’t take it out without me,” and on and on. The sound of those BBs was magic! I can still remember my dad and me walking down to a nearby field on Christmas morning to try it out and I was scaring every wren, blue jay and mockingbird around. There was no meat for the table on that day.
My best friend from kindergarten through high school was Jimbo McDougald. I spent a lot of nights at Jimbo’s house. He shared a room with his older brother and their bedroom was decorated with Mr. McDougald’s Browning hump back and Browning .22 rifles displayed around the wall on mounts of deer feet. I thought it was awesome! Jimbo’s dad, who was an engineer for Seaboard Coastline railroad, took us down to Mark’s Creek for some target practice on some floating tin cans. For the next several years, it was open season on any bird in the neighborhood during the Fall and Winter.
As I got older, I graduated to a single shot .22. This was the squirrel era. My dad and I were supposed to go squirrel hunting one October afternoon after I got home from school. I was filled with anticipation and excitement when I got home that afternoon, but that bubble was busted when I got home and my Dad said he couldn’t go because a mayoral duty had come up. Of course, that was followed by “Don’t take the gun out by yourself!”
I had dreamed about squirrel hunting with my new bolt action, single shot Savage .22. I had done my scouting and I knew where squirrel heaven was. I could walk there from my house. All I needed was some .22 bullets that were stored away from me. I searched every drawer in the house like a thief in the night and finally, there it was – one bullet! I could go and be back before dark and no one would know. I had to go!
Finally I rushed to my destination south of town – the swamp on Mark’s Creek. Mission accomplished. I had my new .22 Savage and one bullet, just like Barney Fife. I set up along a gum tree. The sound of birds and chattering squirrels echoed through the swamp. As I looked up a big oak, there they were. I pulled back the hammer, took aim, squeezed the trigger and down tumbled my bounty. I was Daniel Boone, the best shot in Hamlet and king of the mountain rolled into one.
Now, however, I had a dilemma. Thoughts ran wild through my head: What was I going to do? Was I going to tell Dad I snuck out with a dangerous .22 without his permission? How do you clean a squirrel? What time is it? I gotta get home fast!
As I arrived home with the squirrel, panic set in. “Hey, Dad, if I tell you something will you promise not to get mad? I got a squirrel! How??? Uh, I found a bullet and went squirrel hunting.” In disbelief he asked, “With only one bullet?” and “Where is the squirrel?” I fetched my prize. Yes, sir! As proud as could be, I retrieved the squirrel from its hiding place and showed it to him. “Son, that was some kind of a shot!” he said. And just as my chest was about to bust with pride, he said in his best fatherly voice, just loud enough so my mother could hear, “.But didn’t I tell you NOT to go alone?”
Only minutes later he was showing me how to clean the squirrel and asking my Mother to cook it in a “slow” gravy for dinner with homemade biscuits. My Dad must have been pretty proud because the story made it around town in less than 3 hours. For the next couple of years, those squirrels were mine!
Editor’s note: This is the second installment of an ongoing series by Joe Liles of Hamlet.
