“Boys, put on long pants and long-sleeved shirts. We’re going squirrel hunting. Mama, pack us some fried-egg sandwiches.”
The boys did as they were told. None of them were eager. They were uncomfortable around their father under any circumstance, and today they had already seen the pint bottle in his pocket. But no one would dare protest.
They dressed in their flannel shirts and everyone piled into the old car. It was less than an hour drive to the woods, and the day was sunny and crisp. Their father set up a target on an old tree stump and they practiced shooting for a short time. All the while he sipped straight from the bottle of Old Crow in his jacket pocket and told them how to hold the guns and aim. Even five-year-old Greg had a BB gun.
“When we spot a squirrel, Daryl and Scott will go to the other side of the tree. Greg will stay with me.”
They had hiked about 500 feet into the forest. It was late afternoon and shafts of light penetrated the half-darkness of the thick woods. The five-year-old excitedly spotted the first squirrel. Their father pointed further into the woods for Scott and Daryl to go to the other side of the tree. When they got in place the squirrel went back to the opposite side of the tree where their father waited. He raised his rifle and shot without hesitation. The squirrel fell. The other boys began to run toward it, but he held his hand up to stop them and pointed at another tree close by. The shot had frightened another squirrel into movement. He pointed his finger at Daryl, and then at the squirrel. Daryl raised his rifle, and after several seconds of focusing, shot the animal. It fell, but it was not a clean shot. It tried to run back to a tree, but the man was ready and finished the small animal before he got a few feet.
“The next one is yours, Scott.”
The next one was only a few minutes later and Scott missed. Daryl followed up the shot and got the squirrel, pleasing his father. But again he said, “The next one is yours, Scott.”
It didn’t take long for that opportunity, and this time Scott made the kill, but unlike his brother, he didn’t feel good about it. He hoped that would be all he had to do today. But it wasn’t, and over the next hour he bagged two more, while Daryl got twice that many, and their father even more.
Finally he said, “Okay, let’s get back to the car.” They hiked out, each carrying his bag with dead squirrels.
When they got to the car their father produced a large hunting knife. He set it and his bottle of whiskey on the stump.
“Now we clean our game. Each of you take one squirrel out and lay it on the stump. I’ll go first and then you’ll each do exactly as I do. Greg, you just watch. Maybe next year you’ll be old enough.” With that he slit open the underside of his first squirrel, and then he held it up to drain the blood onto the ground. He held his index and middle fingers under the dripping blood. With the two blood- drenched fingers he marked each cheek of his own face from ear to chin. Then he reached into the cavity of the squirrel and lifted out its heart, holding it high.
“Now you, Daryl.”
Daryl did as he was told, then handed the knife to Scott. Daryl was very pale, obviously not enjoying this macho game at all. But Scott was nauseated and shaking, and the drop of blood that fell from the knife onto his hand forced a retching sound from his throat. It took everything in him to follow suit, but he knew he had no choice.
“Now, take a swig from the bottle,” the man said. He took another swig himself, then passed it to Daryl, who took a small sip and choked on the taste of it. Daryl passed it to Scott, who tried pretending he had taken a sip, but he didn’t get away with it. His father just stared at him until he did it. He gagged and came treacherously close to throwing up.
“Well, I guess we’ll have to skip eating the heart!” their father said as he tossed his into the woods. He laughed and wiped the blood from his face, took the last big drink from his bottle and tossed it, and passed the cloth to Scott. Daryl tried laughing, but it was strained. Scott didn’t even try.
