Field and Stream


- —Natalie Krebs, February–March 2019

The squirrel twitched, and Poppa pulled the trigger. The leaves exploded, and the squirrel scrabbled around the trunk uninjured. Poppa’s face clouded. I had guilted him into this outing, our first squirrel hunt together. He’d taken some of his grandsons squirrel hunting when they came of age, but none of them took to hunting. His granddaugh­ter did, but he never asked me to go. So, when I was almost 25, I demanded a squirrel hunt with my grandpa. In the end, he killed one, and I never took a shot. It was perfect.

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