The Squerrul Huntah

Another News Report from our Down East Correspondent, Shadrach Spencer

Harry Malden loved to feed the birds. He got hisself a new hanging bird feedah and circular net that hung beneath the bird feedah to catch the seed the pesky blue jays tossed out of the feeder when they were looking for something they liked bettah.  Mornin’ after mornin’ Harry would sit on the porch and watch the birds from behind the purple lilac bush alongside the porch. There was all kinds of birds, English sparrows and bright red cardinals, chickadees and finches, mourning doves, and the tufted titmouse. Harry loved them all and would sit for hours every morning watching the birds. “The blue jays are bullies,” he would say, but he didn’t mind ‘em half so much as them damn squerruls. Every time one o’ them varmits would jump on the net below the bird feedah, the net would start swingin’ an’ the birds would scattah.

One mornin’ Harry reckoned that he’d had just about enough and he went down to the local hardware store and bought hisself a Crosman air pistol, a box of compressed air cylindahs for the pistol, and some Eley 22 Wasp Pellets. “That oughta fix them little varmits,” he said to hisself. For the next few mornins’ he laid in wait, pistol in hand, and watched the bird feedah from behind the purple lilac bush. Sooner or later that hairy little varmit was going to appear and Harry would pop it one in the butt.

Sure enough ‘bout an hour latah, the squerrul came a slinkin’ along an’ just as it was about leap, Harry pulled the triggah, and the squerrul gave a little jump and scampered away. Harry loaded another pellet into his Crosman pistol and hunkered down. He knew the varmit would be back, an’ sure enough, here it come. Harry closed his left eye and sighted down the barrel and squeezed the triggah, the squerrul gave another little leap, an’ the pellet ricocheted off a rock and hit a bee hive hanging from the branch of a crap apple tree on the other side of the bird feedah.

Harry was as quick as a squerrul. He dropped his Crosman pistol and ran for the door, and slammed the door behind him. The angry bees swarmed around the porch as Harry stood looking out through the window of the door. As Harry watched he noticed that the squirrel was sitting on the branch of the maple tree in the front yard. What bothered Harry more than a few bee stings was that he swore that the squerrul was laughing.