198. There was almost trouble on Christmas Day . . .
. . . the turkey was resting, the veg was about to go on. The table was set, the fire blazing, and Sarah (and our guests) wanted a drink. I was about to go and shower but thought I would just empty a kitchen bin into the dustbin.
I went outside; the dustbin is close to a bird table and as I approached I noticed a squirrel clinging to the bag of nuts on the bird table. It was a golden opportunity and I popped back into the house. I had never hit anything with my gun, and I did not think I would be more than momentarily delayed.
I returned outside; the squirrel was still nibbling. I cracked the gun, and loaded a pellet; the squirrel did not move. I took aim.
And fired.
Still, the squirrel did not move.
Then, as if in slow motion, the squirrel peeled off backwards and dropped to the floor.
I could not believe it. Head shot.
But now I was in trouble. No way was the squirrel going in the dustbin; this was free food. So, I did a speedy skinning and gutting, washed the meat well, bagged it and froze it. Then showered, shaved, sprayed a whiff of BO-basher, donned my Xmas jumper and in less than 20 minutes I was back in the kitchen hauling the bubbly out of the fridge.
Now, there was something to celebrate . . . but unfortunately I could not tell my mother-in-law!
I went outside; the dustbin is close to a bird table and as I approached I noticed a squirrel clinging to the bag of nuts on the bird table. It was a golden opportunity and I popped back into the house. I had never hit anything with my gun, and I did not think I would be more than momentarily delayed.
I returned outside; the squirrel was still nibbling. I cracked the gun, and loaded a pellet; the squirrel did not move. I took aim.
And fired.
Still, the squirrel did not move.
Then, as if in slow motion, the squirrel peeled off backwards and dropped to the floor.
I could not believe it. Head shot.
But now I was in trouble. No way was the squirrel going in the dustbin; this was free food. So, I did a speedy skinning and gutting, washed the meat well, bagged it and froze it. Then showered, shaved, sprayed a whiff of BO-basher, donned my Xmas jumper and in less than 20 minutes I was back in the kitchen hauling the bubbly out of the fridge.
Now, there was something to celebrate . . . but unfortunately I could not tell my mother-in-law!
Comments
Post a Comment