Last weekend, to reward myself for hard day of working in the yard, I sampled a couple of cold ones (Georgia Brown and a High Life), and decided to take some target practice. I was on the hunt looking to eliminate a pest or two from the backyard. Some call in cruel, mean and hateful, but I call it target shooting; good old fashion pest controlling fun.
It did not take too long before I had one of the gray varmints in my sight. I took careful aim and thumped the critter so hard he jumped straight up, and then flipped and flopped (the squirrel two step) for a couple of seconds. I figured he was a goner, so I started looking for his friends.
After I was finished with my shooting, I went to find squirrel number five, but the tree rat was no where insight. I realized that I must have shocked the varmint; not a clean kill. I decided that he must have escaped into the big pile of limbs and brush that I piled up earlier in the afternoon. I was not really in the mood to start hauling the yard waste to the street, but that was going to be the only way to recover the squirrel. As I got closer to the bottom of the pile I found the telltale signs of my hunt. A drop of blood here and a drop of blood there. The squirrel did manage to try to escape into the rubbish pile, but ultimately he did escape out of my backyard, never to be seen again.
This morning I saw a tree rat out the kitchen window, and the game was on. What luck! Squirrelly number six decided to perch in the wrong place, on the lower part of my palm tree, which provided me the perfect backdrop for a carefully (or not so carefully) placed shot. I quickly and quietly grabbed my trusty Sierra Pro and a tin of Crow-Magnums, and headed for the backdoor.
As I made my way onto the deck to position myself for a shot, I saw that the bushy tail gray pest was still gnawing on a nut. I opened the tin, casually pulled out a pellet, cocked and loaded the gun, took careful aim, and let loose with Hell’s furry.
A well placed neck shot was not too difficult to achieve at 12 or so yards. The squirrel dropped like a rock, and after a twitch or two later, he expired.
I let the dog out so he could smell the dead critter. Of course he went crazy, as has been the case with the others I have let him sniff. My Shih Tzu would never be mistaken for Ming Fu the ferocious hunting dog, but they little guy is becoming something of a squirrel sniffer.