While unsuccessfully hunting for a raccoon near my chicken coops this morning, I saw the cat chasing a squirrel in a tree. I have acres full of squirrels and I was not particularly concerned about the cat catching this guy. He was fast. He ducked and dodged. He taunted and chittered. He was outwitting the cat at every turn.
I left the house for a few hours and returned to find that brave squirrel laid out at my front door. He, it was a he, was starting to go into rigor. I’m not eating that. But I hate to see a life sacrificed and wasted. So I decided to prepare him for the cats.
You see, in all times past, I have a knight in shining beard to do the nasty work around here. Until today. Bob is not here to peel the squirrel.
You know the drill. Sharp knife, big girl panties, fortitude. I called up the Bearded Knight for pro tips on how to skin this thing.
First you make a slice above the anus just under the tail. You extend that slice to the back legs and sever the membrane that holds the skin to the muscles. You then secure the tail under your boot and apply pressure while pulling the body of the squirrel in the opposite direction. Easy peasy.
The first thing that I can confirm is that the cute fluffy tail you see on a squirrel just hides the revolting rat tail. I can also confirm that the luxurious fur detaches easily and floats ever so softly across every available surface.
The second confirmation that I am just horrible at this is when the body ripped in half leaving me with a torso and flapping hide ,complete with tail, in my hands, hind legs on the ground secured by my boot.
I separated the innards and gave the cats the sweet meats and the rest, discarding to intestines.
She was pleased.
I can’t make this shit up.
I’m learning and I thank you for coming along for the ride.
An escape from the suburbs and corporate America spawned a journey into rural living. Writer, wife, mother, and local chicken lady, join me as I fail, fail, fail! and learn along the way.