The Hunter

The Hunter 3,>4? Owen T. Presley I was born in north Alabama, spent my boyhood in the great outdoors of Lafouche Parrish, Louisiana, and celebrated my eighteenth birthday as a fledgling U. S. Marine at Paris Island, South Carolina. After the Marines, college, marriage, one meaningful and a couple of get-rich-quick-jobs, I wound up at Berea College in Berea, Kentucky. The first time I saw Berea I felt I was home. The town is friendly, beautiful, clean, and best of all small. At Berea College I am often called an administrator, among other things. They won't let me teach, I'm still too busy learning. This is the story of one learning experience that caused a good old Southern boy, tough ex-Marine, a hunter by instinct and choice, to declare never to hunt again. About the only frustration I've experienced at Berea College is watching hundreds of squirrels run, play, work, and live right under my nose. Those choice morsels seem to know that they are safe from the frying pan. They climb trees, office windows, trash containers, and at least on one occasion, a friendly arm. Last spring that arm was mine. A fellow worker and I were walking to the college chapel when we noticed two 10 baby squirrels about seven feet up the trunk of a large red oak nearby. Without much hope of success I put my hand on the tree and talked to the baby squirrels. One of them ran down my arm and snuggled into my new Kentucky mountain -man beard. The other one stayed just out of reach, fussing like crazy. We walked on to the chapel, finished our business, and started back to the office. The timid one was still on the red oak, flopping his tail and fussing, more from rustration and fear than from anger. I stuck my arm up to the tree trunk and showed him his friend snuggled in and safe. In my finest squirrel voice, I invited him to come down. Much to our surprise the little skeptic joined his friend under my beard. Fm not sure what made me decide to keep the squirrels; I've always seen squirrels as just a part of nature's fare. They have no personality, no duties, no role except to feed man. I guess I thought it would be fun for our daughter, Roxanna, and a chance for me to brag about uncommon pets. It was unbelievable to me that these babies trusted any human-particularly me. Little did I know as we left their birth place that the decision to adopt these baby squirrels was the real beginning of my nature education. From a packing box filled with styrofoam chips to a fine plywood and hardware cloth cage, complete with a sassafras limb to climb, "my" squirrels moved. Reactions were mixed-Roxanna loved them, my wife, Margaret, was nice in spite of her real feelings (we already had two dogs, two cats, a pony and assorted chickens, ducks and geese). My squirrels were quite an addition to our new home. I was still scratching my head over the fact that two game animals were responding to humans. Right off we made two discoveries about the new members of our family-they were starving and they had no ears. They had the Eroper holes in their heads but neither ad the part that sticks up. Even Roxanna, who had watched me clean squirrels since she was a baby, knows that they should have the part that sticks up. We discussed survival of the fittest theories in some detail and concluded that because of their abnormality our squirrels may have been thrown out by disappointed parents. Feeding our little outcasts was a revelation in itself. Our squirrels seemed to have very distinct personalities. Roxanna named them Tom (alias Shy Tom) and Jerry. Their menu began with warm milk and honey served from a dropper. When called from the styrofoam bed Jerry always came first, Tom was shy always. Their cage was located on the second floor balcony; sliding glass doors provided unlimited opportunities to watch all happenings. Jerry was always the first to...