Squirrel Stew

The other day, Husband and I had this conversation (this is the condensed version):

Husband:  Man, I used to get up early in the morning to go out and shoot squirrels.  My grandpa's dogs would get all excited so sometimes I'd let them go with me.  They'd stand under the tree.  I'd shoot them and if they got to the squirrel first, I'd let them have it.

Me:  You'd let them have it?  You didn't let them have all of them?  I mean, the dogs wouldn't eat the ground squirrels we shot so we just left them on the ground.

Husband:  Oh, no.  They'd take their squirrel and take off.  I'd get the rest and take them home to eat.

Me:  WHOA-HO-HO-HO-HO.  Hang on there for a minute, killer.  Did you just say you ate the squirrels?

Husband:  YEAH!  Squirrels make great stew.

Me:  SHUT UP!  Did you eat opossum, too?! 

And then I giggled. 

Evilly.

For several minutes. 

Because instead of thinking about squirrel stew, I imagined Husband roasting a little squirrel carcass on a spit over a tiny fire.

And I knew that in this marriage, I would never again be thought of as the more red-necky one.

Of course, I somehow failed to mention that when mom used to be the chief Neff Ranch gopher trapper, she used to put the dead, whole gophers in Schwann's bucket and throw them in the freezer to be doled out to the dogs at a later date.

There really was nothing like looking for a gallon of chocolate ice cream and instead finding several frozen gopher corpses.

Unless, of course, you found the bucket full of calf testicles...