WHEN DOVES CRY

After reading my article EATING HUMBLE PIE, my brother said, "I remember that Grandpa killed a dove and he heard the mate wailing for hours and he said he'd never kill another dove." I said, "Oh, they mate for life, so the mate was crying."  He answered, "So Grandpa never killed another dove."

As a hunter--always for food, and NEVER for "sport"--our grandfather had a certain reverence for the animals he hunted as he always called them "Brother".  I always thought that sounded rather Native American to say that.  He would say "Brother Squack" for squirrels and "Brother Jibuck" for rabbits.

A friend and I admired a wooden "rack puller" which was shaped like a squirrel.  I copied the design and asked Gerald to make one each for my friend and me. Gerald made three and I kept one, and gave one to my friend as a stocking stuffer. I asked Gerald why he'd made three and he said he knew I'd want another one for somebody else.  Knowing my proclivity for inflicting "my best new things" on family and friends, Gerald asked, "Just how many more do I need to make?"

The rack-puller is nifty; one can just attach the head of the wooden squirrel to an oven rack and pull it out; eliminating the possibility of having a burned wrist. Flip over the rack-puller to push in the oven rack.

I have nicknamed my rack puller "Brother Squack" in memory of my grandfather.