Grandma, being from the Ozarks of Arkansas, knew how to put out a SPREAD.  Besides the squirrel, she'd fixed fried chicken, cornbread, black-eyed peas, fried okra, taters, fixin's, rolls, and all the requisite autumn desserts like apple pie, pumpkin pie, assorted cobblers, etc.  The food was all set out like a buffet and it was 'help yourself' to all you could eat.  

There were never any belt buckles left fastened after one of Granny Anderson's family eats.

On this particular day, a Sunday, the food was out and the plates were filled.  All the menfolk had gathered in the living room to watch football and all the womenfolk ate in the kitchen.  They apparently wanted to be close to the sink so they could wash any dirty dishes that came in.

Please don't yell at me, ladies.  It was the late-60s, my grandparents were both born in the 19-teens and had lived through the Depression and that's just how it was.  I can recall many a world-class whoopin' at the hands (and belt and switch) of my Grandpa Anderson, Irishman that he was.

ANYWAY.....

My dad, being himself, filled TWO plates, put them on his TV tray, and settled in to watch football and over-indulge on the groceries.  

He picked up a piece of squirrel.  He looked at the squirrel.  He looked at the squirrel again.  As tears welled in his eyes, he called to my grandmother.

I now repeat the conversation VERBATIM (this is family lore and is remembered by all as if it happened just yesterday).

"HELEN!!" gurgled my dad loudly.

"Yay-uh??" said Granny Anderson in her thick Ozark drawl (which she still has even though she's been living in Michigan for over 50 years).

She came into the living room to see what bug my dad had up his butt.

"What in THE hell is this??" spewed my father, slobbering wildly down his chin.

Dad held up his piece of squirrel for my grandmother' s inspection.  Needless to say, the entire family was by now mesmerized by the conversation.

My grandmother looked at the squirrel and the squirrel looked back.  Yep.  The SQUIRREL LOOKED BACK!!

The piece of squirrel my dad was holding had two eye sockets and two buck teeth pointed right at my grandmother.  And her reaction??  Was she distraught??  Did she scream in shock and disgust??  Did she fall over furniture in her attempt to leave the room as quickly as possible??

Nope.  All Granny Anderson said was (don't forget about that thick Ozarkian drawl):

"Oh, I'm sorry.  You weren't supposed to get the heads.  Them're for ME.  I eat the BRAINS!!"

My father's meal was effectively over.  He ate not the first bite of his two plates of food and hasn't eaten squirrel to this day.

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