Absurd - Aardvarks, Mice, and Other Predators

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"...Boo proclaimed his undying affection for me, his 'bess fern in uh ho why wurl'. There was a far off sound as of singing which mixed in counterpoint with Corinth's sonorous tenor. It was all quite provocative."

"Standing next to the baptismal booth, just to the left of Pastor Finch, with the entire congregation of the Cotton Road Baptist Church staring horrified back at me immediately purged my mind of the effects of alcohol."

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"I'll have to be bloody damn hungry
before I approach another squirrel with a fork!" by: Abe Hazard

You'll doubtless infer from the title of this piece that I have at one time in my past approached one or more squirrels with a fork, perchance with predation on my mind. A likelier recipe for failure I cannot fathom because squirrels, though possesing miniscule fencing skills, are nonetheless clever rogues of the trees and would easily elude a huntsman brandishing such a poor choice of kitchen utensil. Rather, a 22 caliber, single shot hunting rifle suits the need quite effectively.

A most unsportsmanlike alternative to the 22 is the shotgun which can be used quite effortlessly even under the considerable influence of alcohol. I personally do not condone mixing spirits with the act of collecting delectable creatures for the plate. However, my parents' unfortunate choice of locality (Big Hog Lick, Ky.) placed me at birth squarely in the middle of the land that time forgot, and as the saying goes, "when in Rome..."

Brandishing my double-barrel "Emma", I set out on an expedition with my two older brothers one October evening in 1976, we still somewhat shaken and confused over our town's ill-fated and much-litigated July fourth celebration of the bicentennial. (The federal investigation had gone on for months.) Nevertheless, the weather was warm and the woods teemed with victuals. Our spirits rose.

As ritual dicated, we had already consumed vast quantities of beef jerky and Red White and Blue beer. Corinth, the eldest sibling, sang happily off-key about momma's not letting their babies grow up to be cowboys while Boo proclaimed his undying affection for me, his "bess fern in uh ho why wurl". There was a far off sound as of singing which mixed in counterpoint with Corinth's sonorous tenor. It was all quite provocative.

We had been paying little attention to our course, which must have strayed considerably from our intentioned squirrel woods. In the absence of pride or vanity, we three stopped to relieve ourselves in what we took to be an open clearing. It was uncharacteristically bright, as if someone had hung electric lamps all about. Unperturbed by the lights, and the now loud singing, we each unzipped our flies. Inexplicably, the smell of Aqua Velva and Witch Hazel was heavy on the air.

A sudden hush came over the clearing, the only sound that unmistakeable and prolonged liquid hiss of relief. Swaying forward and backward, our eyes intently focussed down on our individual tasks, we each performed the customary shake and tuck, then zipped up. With that final action, our collective gaze rose to take in the view of the Cotton Road Baptist Church Summer Tent Revival and Ice Cream Social, of which we were now the abrupt center of attention.

Under normal circumstances, a third of a case of Red White and Blue would have kept me adequately sedated for about four hours. Standing next to the baptismal booth, just to the left of Pastor Finch with the entire congregation of the Cotton Road Baptist Church staring horrified back at me immediately purged my mind of the effects of alcohol. In that moment of lucidity, I croaked one word. "Run!"

How Corinth's rifle went off is still a mystery, but for God's good graces Ms. Purdy was not injured. Her yellow hat with the stuffed squirrel perched artistically among the plastic flowers, however, was found twenty yards away. The squirrel's head was never recovered.

As part of my community service, on odd days when I'm not visiting Corinth at the state penitentiary, I write columns such as this in the hopes that I might disuade others from following my faulty choice of actions. For my own part, I will say that I will have to be bloody damn hungry before I will approach another squirrel with a fork. I find them distasteful now as I gaze up at the yellow hat hanging on the wall of my study, with its furry, headless figure arranged artistically among the plastic flowers.
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