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It was raining a drizzle. Probably the reason I was never interested in hunting up to this point was because when I was very small, some next door sometime summer neighbor kids, pretty small themselves, out from the city for a few weeks, shot a squirrel with a pellet gun. Something I will never forget, that squirrel lying on the ground only wounded, with its belly pumping up and down in labored breathing, its eyes open, brown, big, shiny and staring. He was probably thinking in anguish, what did I do to deserve this? These kids were taking turns shooting it while it lie there. And their parents were there, some others --- and nobody seemed to care much for the plight of the squirrel. It was disgusting. And they were all Christians.
We all got out of the car and went into the woods to find some squirrels. It was really dark, raining a drizzle and I was really drunk. So I never imagined that I would ever hunt a squirrel, and probably was only there because that was what we were doing that night. Certainly was not my idea probably Dickie's. Even in a drunken stupor probably thought, how the hell ever am I going to see any squirrels. You don't see them that often even if they live in the trees above you which they did on the island. My grandfather had a bird feeder and he would get so mad when the squirrels would come and sit on the bird feeder for lunch and he would go running out there to chase them away. I remember they said the color Robin breast was the blood of Christ and so they were big on Robins.
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