The Incredible Edible

Back in the seventies, I moved in with a married sister and rented a room so I could be closer to work. I worked the afternoon shift and usually got home by eleven thirty. My brother-in-law worked days and when I got in, everyone would be asleep. I'd tip-toe in and quietly shower then go to the kitchen for a late dinner. My sister was a great cook and always had the best left overs in the fridge. One night, I slipped in and found a platter heaped with fried chicken. The pieces were small and I figured she had bought a bag of chicken wings and fried them up. I took one and then another and before I could say, "holy cow" they were all gone. I washed the platter and went to bed.

Now, before I go any further, I want to say my brother-in-law is also a southern man who loves to hunt. I, am a Yankee lady and I, eat things purchased, not hunted. That said, I must continue.
I was rudely awakened at six in the morning by an angry sister. She was shaking me and yelling about some squirrel in the house. I woke in a stupor and sat up. I immediately put my feet up and looked for the squirrel. She was standing over me with her hands on her hips.
I was waking slowly. She started again. This time I caught her words.
"Where is the squirrel?"
"Hell if I know," I answered scratching my head. I looked again around my room, hoping it hadn't come in while she was yelling.
"You know what I mean!" she screeched and as quickly as she had come in, she left, slamming the door.
I sat for a moment and when no squirrel came out of hiding, I went back to sleep.
For two days, she would not talk to me. The weekend came and with it, time off. I woke up on Saturday early and as I sat in the kitchen having coffee, my brother-in-law came in with his hunting gear all ready and I watched as he filled his thermos with coffee. As he walked out the door, he winked. I followed him out the door.
"What was that for?" I yelled as he got in his truck. He answered back in his southern voice.
" I told you. It tasted like chicken!"
Then he winked again and left. I went inside to find my sister. She was busy getting dressed.
"You have to talk to me" I started. "Tom just winked at me" I had told on him.
"Good" she said. "Hope you puke"
What was that? Here her husband is winking at a sister and all she could do is hope I threw up? I didn't understand. I followed her through the house.
"What?" I demanded. "What is going on?"
She stopped for a moment and grinned.
" Tom spent two days hunting squirrel and cleaning them. I spent a whole evening frying them so he could take the platter to work for his buddies and you come waltzing in here and eat all of it. You didn't even save one small leg for him!"
The small leg part hit me right between the eyes. I could see cute little squirrel jumping from tree to tree, missing a leg here and an arm there and then reality hit me again. My stomach searched for squirrel deep inside and when it couldn't find any, picked on my coffee. I ran to the sink. All she could do was laugh at me. "Serves you right" she said and left me to clean the sink.
Now, I am not against eating hunted meat, but people who live with hunters should own label guns so they can mark the stuff in the fridge. Just in case someone gets hungry in the night.

Learn more about this author, Susan Thrower.
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