The Hunter

Jeanne staggered into the kitchen and yawned.   

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Did you sleep all right?” her father, Gene, asked.

“No. About 3:00 this morning I heard noises, like scratching noises in the walls of my room.  It went on for two whole hours! When I finally fell asleep again, it was time for me to get up.”

“Oh, I think you were just dreaming, Jeanne. Now, what do you want for breakfast? If we had ham, we could have ham and eggs—if we had eggs.”

The next morning, Gene and John hammered away on the unfinished upstairs attic. They noticed some of the sheathing around the air conditioner sleeve had been eaten away. “Son, it looks like an animal of some kind has made its mind up to intrude into our attic,” Gene said. “But we won’t worry. It’ll find its way out.”       

Gene’s father, Cliff, stopped by one afternoon. He and Gene stood outdoors on the side of the house and talked for a few minutes in the hot summer sun. Suddenly, Cliff saw something move above him. “Gene, look at that! It’s a squirrel sitting right atop of your upstairs air conditioner unit! You think he’s the one that’s been getting into your attic?” 

“Could be, could be. I better start taking this thing seriously and do something about it.” With an idea in mind, he looked up to the squirrel. Ultimately, he covered up the opening around the edges of the air conditioner with sheet metal. This should keep him out for sure, he thought to himself.

Within a week Jeanne woke up in the wee hours of the morning to the agitating sound of clawing noises. Later that morning she repeated, “Daddy, I’m telling you! There’s some kind of animal in the walls. I’m not imagining things! I heard it again last night; I’m not lying!”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s a squirrel, and I thought I fixed the problem, but I guess he found another way of getting in. I’ll look into it tomorrow,” he said.

The next day Gene checked around the sides of the house for any openings that the squirrel could squeeze into. After a few minutes, he saw it poke its face through the louvers of the gable vent above. It turned its head to the left and right with a quick motion, then it glared at him with its small onyx eyes, daring the stranger to intrude upon its territory. I’m gonna stop you from getting in, you little rascal, Gene vowed.

Gene bought $70.00 worth of ½” mesh wire hardware cloth from Home Depot to cover the outside surfaces of the gable vents, hoping to stop the squirrel from getting in. He covered the vents on the sides and front of the house. Unfortunately, the next morning the annoying critter still acted as an irritating early morning alarm clock.

Gene phoned a Hanahan animal control officer and asked if they had a trap small enough for squirrels, but the officer said they only had larger traps, like for raccoons and opossum. So, he bought a trap from Cross Seed Company for $30.00. He baited the wire cage with an ear of dry corn, because he had usually fed the squirrels corn when he used to watch them play. Days passed, but the squirrel never neared the cage. The old man’s conscience gnawed at him. I hate to do it, but…      

He decided he would kill the squirrel by pulling a trigger. He inserted a long wooden post with a feeding platform into the ground in the backyard, dragging the cement bird bath near the post. This way, the squirrel had two places to perch as a target. After prepping this set just outside the master bedroom window on the back wall of the house, he reluctantly ambled to the garage to find the pellet gun. 

With a college semester completed for John, and Gene being retired, they planned to take turns standing vigil at the open window with the gun in hand.      

One morning while John sat at the kitchen table sipping a tall glass of orange juice, he noticed the little pest from the window. He ran to the bedroom and raised the window very slowly. The squirrel jumped onto the bird bath to drink. John aimed the gun painstakingly and fired a nice, clean shot to the squirrel’s head. Instantly, it fell to the ground. Gene and John slapped high-fives, and Gene cooked roast beef, rice and gravy, macaroni, and yeast rolls for dinner that night to celebrate.     

The next morning, Jeanne sadly let her father know that John shot the wrong squirrel. “Daddy, it’s still in there. I heard him scratching and moving around again last night, and it even woke me up this morning.” Gene gave a long sigh. “I guess John and I will just keep doing what we have been. Watching and waiting.”

Several more days passed. John and Gene continued their watch. Each one sat at the window on a chair for as long as he could stand and sulked while only the blue jays pecked at the bait on the post.      

Eventually, they tried to narrow the time they needed to spend at the window and concluded that the squirrel never appeared before 10:00 in the morning. They then started their watches at 10:00, and sat for an hour each, until a few hours past lunch.      

On Gene’s vigil five days later, he spotted the squirrel directly beneath the bedroom window. Gonna do it, gonna get him…  He moved very slowly and took careful aim. I can do it. I know I can! Scoot out there a little further, buddy.  That’s it! Perfecto! Ready, aim… His hands trembled. The pellet whizzed closely by, but the squirrel scampered away frantically and unharmed.

Gene made another purchase pertaining to the squirrel. His new $50.00 pellet gun with a telescopic sight enabled more accurate aim. Incidentally, Gene was offered a position with a community college around this period of time. The hiring manager scheduled Gene’s first day to begin in two weeks, and if the squirrel problem still lingered, he wouldn’t be home to resolve it.

One week later, Gene caught sight of the little nuisance beneath the bedroom window again. As a matter of fact, it moved so close to the house that he could not sight him with the telescope. As soon as he aimed the gun, it ran away, teasingly. He started to wonder if the squirrel entered and left through the air conditioner at the back of the house. Going outside to look, he discovered tiny prints in the soft mud around the ductwork.      

He gathered up all the scrap plywood he could find from the garage and tried to cover the many cracks and crevices between the ground and the bottom of the ductwork. Then the thought occurred to him: I might have boarded him IN instead of OUT.    

He realized his fears were true the next day. The whole family heard noises within the walls of the house—in the bathroom, the living room, and the bedrooms. They even heard it in the ceiling. Gene felt hopeless. For twenty-seven years, he had taken care of any problem that he, his wife or his children encountered. He sat down in his recliner, remembering the all the voices that looked to him for guidance and help over the years: Sugar, you think you could paint the living room this weekend?… Daddy! I twisted my ankle!...I need help with my algebra...kitchen faucet isn’t working…my car has a flat again…need to borrow some money…

He knew what to do in every situation. A sinking realization crept stealthily into his brain, and he admitted to himself for the first time in his married life, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do! 

He found himself listening each morning to another member of the family complain about lack of sleep. Gene started to act differently. He didn’t joke with his family anymore. He didn’t dance around the house when a country tune played. He didn’t say much unless someone spoke to him. His wife and children started to worry.

Four more days came and went. One day as John stepped from the kitchen into the garage, he spotted the furry creature burrowing into some old cardboard boxes. Of course, it instantly scurried away at the sound of John’s footsteps. It had found its way through the walls from the air conditioner unit to the garage.  

Gene grumbled and stomped his way into the garage. He examined the walls and found a hole in the wall board where the old hot water heater once stood. It looked big enough for a squirrel to wiggle through. Later that night, the sound of frolicking within the woodwork kept the old man awake and perplexed. 

He now needed a way to trap the squirrel in the garage to perform the execution. He decided to conceal the hole in the wall by rigging up a piece of board to slide down and cover it as soon as the prey showed up in the garage again. He attached a string to the board, ran it up the wall, and put eye hooks into the ceiling at the opposite end of the garage. This two-hour accomplishment enabled him to sit and wait for the squirrel to jump through the opening, slide the board over the hole by using the string, and prevent it from entering the walls again. Now I can trap and shoot this demon inside the garage. 

He sat down on an old, uncomfortable, rusty chair in the garage, and thought, This is going to end today! NO MORE! 

After a while, Jeanne opened the garage door to check on her father. He appeared to be a genuine, chaotic, mess. His silver hair looked wild, his face was tinted crimson from the heat of the enclosed garage, his green tank top dripped with sweat, and a soaked, red bandana encircled his head. He sat in his chair motionless, with one hand holding the string to work the trap door and one hand faithfully on the gun across his lap. A look of determination covered his face as he quietly admonished her, “Get on outta here. I’m busy. Go on.”

He sat completely still, trying to breathe very quietly and refrain from making any noise or movements at all. His whole body remained tense as he waited and waited for the devil’s grand entrance. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. After twenty-eight minutes, he heard a rustling sound and turned his head. The squirrel dropped in through the hole in the wall, jumping from a step ladder to the top of the gas grill with very frenzied movements. It’s been sealed up under the house without food or water for about four days. He’s really in a pickle now. He’s even worse off than me! Time to put him out of his misery and mine.

As the squirrel hopped onto the bow of the boat, Gene quietly swung the barrel of the gun towards the brown beast. This is it. Here it goes. Careful, easy… He squeezed the trigger—and missed his shot! The animal immediately jumped and hid amid the junk on the floor.  I WILL NOT SIT HERE ANOTHER TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES. I WILL NOT, I WILL NOT—I WILL HAVE A HEART ATTACK AND DIE IF I DO!! he told himself. He marched angrily up the garage steps and into the house, slamming the door behind him.

The old man knew the squirrel was hungry and thirsty, so he devised another plan. He bought rat poison for $5.00 and lay several containers of it around the garage floor. Beside each container, he placed a bowl of water. 

That evening, John opened the garage door very quietly and stepped down onto the top step. He looked around slowly and listened. He saw the squirrel’s tail sticking out of a table cloth on the floor. He reached for the gun in the corner, and stepped down into the garage. As he got closer to the cloth, he saw that the squirrel was alive, but had been immobilized by the poison. With ease and finesse, John took confident aim and put the stationary target out of its misery with one fatal shot to its abominable head.

Frazzled, downtrodden, and worn out, Gene could only manage a weak smile when he heard the good news.  Exhausted, he shuffled off to take a bath and go to bed. His mood elevated, though, when he thought to himself, Tomorrow’s Saturday. The whole family can sleep in—for sure this time.

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