Of warnings and squills

A few days ago, the girls and I came home from an afternoon of Christmas shopping.  Lincoln greeted us at the door with a wide grin.

“Daddy is frying up ‘chicken,’ ” he said, making the finger quote gesture around chicken.

This is Lincoln-code for “We are cooking rabbit.”  He uses the code for Prairie, the only one in the family who doesn’t want to eat ‘the other white meat’ in our house.

Before I could pull our purchases from the shopping bags, Rachel was gnawing on a piece of browned meat.

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I noticed Sid was gnawing the meat off a really small bone.

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In a whisper, Lincoln let me know that “chicken” is now also Lincoln-code for squirrel.

He had shot his first squirrel with a bb gun that morning.

And Sid helped Lincoln skin it and fry it up.

“You are a great daddy,”  I told Sid.  “I would have paid Lincoln $5 to NOT have me help him skin and cook the squirrel.”

Though I am proud of my fierce . . . . menacing . . . . sweet, rosy-lipped hunter.

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Prairie’s response was to immediately write a notice.

For the dear reader unskilled in Prairie-speak, I provide an accurate translation below . . . . .

Warn the others

Dear Squirrel

Watch out my brother is going to kill you.

You must go to a safer place.

Love,

a girl who loves squirrels