Chapman Morgan, a former Baton Rougean living in Santa Maria, California, has this squirrel hunting story:
"Hunting on the Amite River near my home late one evening, I took a shot with my .410 shotgun at a gray squirrel high up in a beech tree.
"He was hit but got his injured leg caught in a large hanging wad of moss. He ran round and round trying to extricate himself, and I commenced blasting away, shooting at the movement in the tree.
"Expending all my ammo, I ran home, brought back the remainder of a box of shells and commenced firing again.
"By now, it was approaching darkness and I could not tell the gray squirrel from gray Spanish moss.
"Finally, the little critter fell from the tree, and I ran and grabbed him, only to have him sink his sharp front teeth to the bone in my finger.
"Putting him out of his misery, I was able to free my finger and somewhat relieve my own misery.
"When my friends heard this story, Harold Reid called me 'Old Eagle Eye' from then on. I never told him the rest of the story:
"When I dropped the dead squirrel on the porch and went in to get a skinning knife, the cats stole the squirrel and took him under the house, where they polished him off.
"A whole box of .410 shells, a badly punctured finger and no squirrel for supper that night."
Power of prayer
Speaking of hunting, here's a hunting story from Algie Petrere:
"The Wednesday night church service coincided with the last day of hunting season. Our pastor asked who had bagged a deer. No one raised a hand.
"Puzzled, the pastor said, 'I don't get it. Last Sunday, many of you said you were missing because of hunting season. I had the whole congregation pray for your deer.'
"One hunter groaned, 'Well, it worked. They're all safe.'"
Dan Stein, of Baton Rouge, tells of his encounter with a visiting squirrel:
"One beautiful, late-winter morning, I looked out my bedroom window to admire my previous day’s effort at preparing the soil in all the flower beds and planting numerous seedlings.
"There was a squirrel busily uprooting about a dozen of my plants as it looked for nonexistent acorns.
"I burst out the back door and threw a lava rock that missed the little varmint. He ran up a tree, and I yelled things I am not proud of.
"Then I noticed my next-door neighbor Helen hanging clothes on a line. Her mouth was opened, and I realized I was standing in my underwear. She just shook her head at the 6-foot squirrel who lived next door."
Marsha R. says, "I see that Heloise has declared that egg shells should not be run through your garbage disposal because of the inner membrane.
"She added that potato peels turn into cement. We already knew about coffee grounds. Exactly what should we use a disposal for?
"I remember when we would visit the first proud owners of a new garbage disposal, and the high point of the entertainment came when the host demonstrated the appliance by feeding it chicken bones. Ah, the good old days."
Special People Dept.
- Myrle Hebert Ostergren celebrates her 102nd birthday Wednesday.
- Carrie "Mae" Vitrano Rodrigue and Lowell "Rod" Rogrigue, of River Ridge, celebrate their 70th anniversary Wednesday. They were former residents of St. Rose. He is a World War II veteran, serving in the Navy in the Pacific, and a Purple Heart recipient.
- Hallie and Pat Delage celebrated 63 years of marriage Saturday.
Thought for the Day
From Marvin Borgmeyer: "Arguing with a woman is a lot like reading a software license. After a while, you just give up and say 'I agree.'"
"I know this is lost on Baton Rouge drivers," says Dan Burkhalter, the Carencro Curmudgeon, about his idea for two highway signs:
"Do your tailgating at the stadium, not on the road."
"Make an attorney unhappy; leave room to stop."