When I was growing up, we had tons of squirrels in the yard. I never cared for them, for they ate all the hazelnuts in the trees that bordered the wooded part of the yard. They would flit from one branch to another all day long, sucking down the hazelnuts.
We didn’t really know you could eat hazelnuts. I certainly didn’t know that they could be used to make rum. I was just a kid, and my rum swilling days were still a long ways into the future.
Hazelnuts did, however, make great weapons. When still on the tree, they had husks with prickly hairs on them that really hurt when you were hit by them. Once out of the husk, they were a perfect projectile for a slingshot.
Without the squirrels, a battle could go on all day. But increasingly, these vermine became a nuisance, growing bolder and bolder as they came to find that we were no threat to them.
Sure, some people see squirrels as cute little critters. Why would anyone harm a squirrel, they would say? I could, of course, give them a litany of reasons, including the fact that in Washington State the Eastern Gray Squirrel is an invasive species. They took over the native squirrel’s habitat long ago.
As such, there’s no real law that protects them. They are classified rightfully as pests. If they are damaging your yard, you can kill them off them without a hunting license.
I didn’t know this until a few days ago. I was made aware of it in a story in The Seattle Times about Melany Vorass. She’s one of your typical Seattle natural kind of girls who raises her own goats, chickens, bees and snails. She also traps squirrels in her front yard to use for her recipes.
I never knew that squirrel could look so tasty and can only image what they would have tasted like infused with a diet of our family’s hazelnuts. Her specialties are Squirrelritos and Rissoto di Rodentia, or Squirrel Risotto. I was mesmerized watching the video on how she makes it. It looks delicious, infused with onion, tarragon and mushrooms. If you want to know more, including how to dress a squirrel, visit her website at essentialbread.com. Want the cooking demonstration? Click here.
First, let me give a big “hoorah!” to Seattle for allowing residents to keep up to three goats and eight chickens in a backyard. When I lived with the ex-whatever in Melbourne on an acre, cloven animals were verboten – and I so wanted fainting goats. I see that Seattleites really understand the importance and potential of having your own goats, fainting or non-fainting.
Of course, I was living with the daughter of Doctor Doolittle in Melboring. Whenever we went to a Chinese restaurant, I was never allowed to order the duck. “Ducks are our friends not food,” she would say. Well, to me, “ducks are delicious.” So are geese, but those were off limits as well, because she once owned a pet goose. This never made sense to me, however, because she once owned a pet pig but we would eat pork. And she said I had my own set of rules. 😉
Our acre turned out to be a haven for wildlife. I would see an occasional bobcat scurry by, there were raccoons, lots of birds and yes, squirrels. Tons of squirrels. Once we added the bird feeders outside, the little bastards multiplied by the day, as if they had posted little signs on all the trees inviting all their friends over to feast on our birdseed.
I was more than a little perturbed. They had to be dealt with. I wasn’t allowed to shoot them with a gun, but I did make do with the next best thing. I got an Airsoft pistol. That turned out not to have enough punch to it, so I upgraded to an automatic, Uzi style that was battery powered. That was perfect.
I would lay in wait for the squirrels to make themselves at home in the feeder. Then I would crack the door open ever so slightly and let them have it. The little plastic beads fired like tracers. I got really good at following their path up into the trees where they thought they would be safe.
They were really mad, too. So much so that they would cuss me out in their little chittery-chattery squirrel language. I’m sure their little butts were smarting quite a bit. But still, they would be drawn back to the seemingly endless plate of free food and this ritual would repeat itself, often all day long.
At one point I made a plan to take a whack at these critters with my flintlock. True, a 56 caliber lead ball probably would have annihilated the little guy, blowing bits of fur and flesh for 10 yards. But I figured, given the inaccuracy of the weapon itself, he had more than a 20 to 1 chance that he’d never be nicked by a shot.
I only held back because Doolittle’s Daughter would have had a hissy fit about it. I would probably get a “squirrels are our friends, not food” lecture, which itself seems more than a bit squirrelly to me.
I never got to take a shot at one though. Just as my plans were beginning to take shape, I found myself suddenly unmarried.
This is truly a shame. I think my ex-whatever would have really enjoyed Rissoto di Rodentia if we had stayed married.
Of course, I wouldn’t tell her what she was eating, at least initially. I would just make some vague reference to wild game that a friend had given me. She was a fairly adventurous eater, so I don’t think she would have really questioned why the legs were so little or where the meat came from. As long as it wasn’t seafood (that was cannibalism, she said – another story entirely), she was fine.
I suppose, though, that she would have eventually figured it all out when one of her two furry friends in the cage in the house turned up missing. Eastern Gray Squirrel, Flying Squirrel… varmints are varmints in my book.
Out on the Treasure Coast, trying to figure out why my teeth feel so furry this morning,
– Robb