Killer Squirrels give hunter a scare

By Tracy Farr
Editor, The Daily Spittoon

Duff Huffman came into the office late yesterday, his eyes wild with terror, gasping for breath like he had run a full marathon in less than 30 seconds. I filled a cup of scalding hot day-old coffee into a mug and gave it to Duff hoping that a swig would calm his nerves. He plopped down in a nearby chair and drank the whole thing in one gulp, never blinking an eye.

“Trace, those squirrels out there are after me,” he said, handing me the cup and indicating he wouldn’t mind a second. “I think they’re fighting back after all the years I’ve been killing their kinfolk.”

Duff loves his squirrel hunting. He’s famous for it around Stinky Creek. He can go out hunting when the weather keeps all the other hunters at home and still bring back is limit. He’s got the touch. But yesterday he was touched by something other than luck – he was touched by stark raving fear.

And he drank the second cup of boiling coffee in one gulp and never blinked an eye.

“I was out in the woods, sitting where I usually sit, listening for those squirrels, when all of a sudden I heard a sound behind me,” Duff said, handing me the cup and indicating he wouldn’t mind a third. “When I turned around looking for squirrel, there was nothing there. But then I heard something in front of me, and when I turned back around, there was nothing there.”

Duff stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and drank his third cup of steaming coffee in one gulp without blinking an eye.

“This went on for several minutes,” he continued.  “I would hear something behind me and turn, but nothing. Then I would hear something to the left of me and turn, but nothing. And the sounds just kept getting closer and closer. The sounds were coming at me from all directions and I knew exactly what was happening – squirrel revenge.”

I told Duff squirrel revenge was entirely impossible because squirrels are just dumb animals.

“Maybe so, but then I saw them,” Duff said, sitting on the edge of the seat, wringing his hands. “The sounds just all of a sudden stopped, and that’s when I saw the biggest, hairiest squirrel I'd ever seen poking his head from around the tree right in front of me. He was looking me straight in the eye, not an ounce of fear in his bones, and he started to growl like no squirrel I have ever seen, heard, or killed. And then out of the corners of my eyes I saw movement all around me, squirrels everywhere I looked, in trees, on the ground, behind bushes, in holes, all crouched ready to pounce on me. And they were coming closer, and closer and closer.”

By this time Duff was off the chair, almost standing on his tiptoes in excitement, his hands running through his hair as if he were trying to pull every strand out by its roots.

“That’s when I stood up and ran for my ever loving life,” Duff just about squealed. “I ran all the way here in the hopes of losing them. But I think they’ve followed me. I think they’re here. Can’t you hear them? They’re all around us. Can’t you see them?”

All of a sudden Duff reached down into a bag he had with him and threw onto my desk the biggest squirrel I had ever seen. I screamed just like a little girl, jumped up out of my seat, spilled the fourth cup of coffee I was about to give Duff, and almost peed in my pants. All the time, Duff just stood there smiling.

Of course the squirrel was dead. Duff always gets his limit.

“Put that in a big pot of water with some dumplings and you’ll have yourself one heckofa meal,” he chuckled as he left my office. “And by the way, thanks for the coffee.”