The only good thing to come of this am is this tale. So I figure I might as well share it.
It was the first day of regular gun season for deer on public land, so I thought I�d kill two beasts with two stones and garner a mixed bag. I set up in a spot I figured other hunters would push deer into, had a .22 for squirrels and a .45 colt Blackhawk for the deer. Given how thick the area is and how frequently shots are fast and short range, I�ve done as well with the pistol as a rifle out there the last couple of seasons. I was feeling pretty smug about my upcoming double dip, clever even.
Of course, after an hour and a half of gunshots going off way down the valley and nothing coming my way but a couple dozen scampering squirrels intent on raining beechnut and acorn shells on me, my temper and my equipment, I figured heck, holstered the sidearm and chambered a round in the .22.
At the snick of the bolt snapping back, every squirrel�even that fat little rascal that had been scampering around the tree I was sitting against, at one point giving me the eye from 10 feet away�every squirrel disappears into the thick leaves at the tops of the oaks.
I ease up and start sneaking over to a spot where I have a better view of and a clear shot at the treetops, and a couple of does and a nice little buck come charging out of the bushes about 30 yards downwind of me. They skid to stop. I�m frozen standing in the open with the .22 in my hands. As they wheel around, I try to get the pistol out and on �em. No such luck. I drop the .22 and go charging across the ridge to cut them off but get there only in time to see their white tails disappearing into the heavy thicket along the creek.
Needless to say, the squirrels never reappeared. I stuck around for a couple of hours and spent another hour slow-hunting back to the truck. I got one long shot at a limb chicken way up in a pecan tree and missed.
The moral is something about a squirrel in the hand or venison in the freezer or. Think I�ll start my own Laurel and Hardy show.
