First of all, you must have strong teeth. Very strong teeth. At least if I'm the one cooking it.
Sunday afternoon, I took the boys & Bitsy to Uncle E's on the 4 wheeler so the boys could play with J & Bitsy could scrap book with Beffie & Ray-ray. Bitsy is beginning a lovely collection of scrapbooked pages on her bedroom wall. The girls set her up with all their left overs & help her with her art work. She's very proud of it all.
By the time she was finished & we headed home, Husband & BabyGirl were no where to be found. I had the ATV and both vehicles were still in the drive, so I knew they hadn't gone far. I figured they were at Big BIL's playing with the kids, but I figured wrong. They were squirrel hunting.
They came home empty handed; Husband said it was like walking through the woods with a freight train. The boys were broken hearted because they didn't get to go, so Husband promised to take them at a later date. I voted for one kid at a time...and won (vote is too mild a word in reality).
Yesterday Husband took B.B. out & they came home successful. I was informed that I was to cook the squirrel for dinner last night, and Husband & B.B. took it out to skin & clean it. At one point my son was running around the yard with squirrel feet in his hands.
Having no clue what to do with it, I dredged the furry little thing in flour & fried it up. I think in my desire to avoid food poisoning, I over cooked Rocky. It was tougher than shoe leather. Somehow the boys prevailed & ate half the squirrel between them. BabyGirl & I were unimpressed & Bitsy gnawed on bones excitedly jabbering about her squirrel & Daddy's gun.
So to all you fuzzy little blog reading cuties (of which I'm sure I have a huge following), avoid our house like the plague, or you too will be fried up & served to salivating FarmHands.