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I got bored this morning...
- Thread starter BruiseLeee
- Start date
That's probably it, Tom. Jesse Stuart is worth revisiting, he was once very popular, this teacher turned author, but few seem to know him today.
Ben, I doubt they threw the whole cat into the pot, and yes, the pots were probably enormous cast iron.
Painters- they called the cat's. It took me a couple years of childhood to figure that one out. Panther.
munk
Ben, I doubt they threw the whole cat into the pot, and yes, the pots were probably enormous cast iron.
Painters- they called the cat's. It took me a couple years of childhood to figure that one out. Panther.
munk
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Anybody ever eat a groundhog?
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rattlesnake = very chewy and stringy
Caught, skinned, cooked and eaten myself. Not as much fun as I had hoped.
Caught, skinned, cooked and eaten myself. Not as much fun as I had hoped.
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Daniel Koster said:rattlesnake = very chewy and stringy
Caught, skinned, cooked and eaten myself. Not as much fun as I had hoped.
Lots of work for what ya' get.
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Nasty said:
Hey, bro; are you trying to say it tastes NASTY!!!!?
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What's a not-right dog?
Is it more of a lefty liberal dog or a bit dodgy in the head?
Trevor? Young Bert, the not-right dog, spent his first two and one-half years of life tied to a tree behind a house in a suburb of Chicago. The man of the house, a Chicago cop, wanted a dog. The wife of the house, with two toddlers, came from a culture which did not keep pets. The cop worked nights, and oddly, almost every night the dog got loose.
One night, he walked in through the self-opening doors at a 24-hour Walgreens, just for company.
He became a chronic barker and runaway. He was going to be put down.
The cop called the breeder after 2.5 years, and asked if he could get his money back. Gawd luv 'em, the breeders said to bring the dog back (rather than have him destroyed,) and they would work something out.
Young Bert is a German wire-haired pointer (Drathaar), superbly bred, and brain-damaged.
Apparently, so am I. I visited the breeders the day Young Bert was dropped off. They offered him to me, since my wire-hair had died the year before. I said, I'd think about it. They said, they would follow me home.
That was about 3 years ago.
Young Bert is currently living the life of fantasy of a tree-tied dog. I live alone in rural America, in the middle of small-farmland, with a crik below the house, pheasants in the brush, and literally hundreds of acres of farmland around me.
Young Bert can run, swim, stalk, chase, gallop endlessly to his heart's content. In winter, he serves as a 70 pound bed warmer. He lives in the house, and has only one human, but that human is mostly in constant attendence.
I hunt small game; pheasant hunting is a long-standing interest of mine (ever since I was a kid, sitting in the barber shop reading old Field and Stream, Outdoor Life, and Sports Afield magazines.
Bert is now an outstanding pheasant dog, and a remarkable (REALLY remarkable) retriever. But Young Bert got brain-damaged in his early years, and is hard-wired in ways that I can not change. He does not have a mean bone in his body. But he ain't right.
Even now, each time we go out, it is like a prison break for him. He is sure it will be the last time he ever gets to go out of the house. His muscles feel like polished marble, his enthusiasm has not yet been contained, and he has a joy of life that I envy beyound description.
He helps keep me alive.
BUT, he is too enthusiastic to ever have a friend take him if I go away for a while.
BTW, I shot the rabbit after walking through 8 inch snow that had been rained upon and fast-frozen with single digit temps for a week. My legs are going. Young Bert retrieved it from a patch of thorny bushes. (Rusty? I used the riot gun. Somehow it amuses me to have an extended magazine, short-barrelled, open bore 12 guage hunting something so fragile as rabbits. One day, I fully expect them to just surrender, instead of fleeing."ALL RIGHT, BUNNY, COME OUT WITH YOUR PAWS UP!")
Is it more of a lefty liberal dog or a bit dodgy in the head?
Trevor? Young Bert, the not-right dog, spent his first two and one-half years of life tied to a tree behind a house in a suburb of Chicago. The man of the house, a Chicago cop, wanted a dog. The wife of the house, with two toddlers, came from a culture which did not keep pets. The cop worked nights, and oddly, almost every night the dog got loose.
One night, he walked in through the self-opening doors at a 24-hour Walgreens, just for company.
He became a chronic barker and runaway. He was going to be put down.
The cop called the breeder after 2.5 years, and asked if he could get his money back. Gawd luv 'em, the breeders said to bring the dog back (rather than have him destroyed,) and they would work something out.
Young Bert is a German wire-haired pointer (Drathaar), superbly bred, and brain-damaged.
Apparently, so am I. I visited the breeders the day Young Bert was dropped off. They offered him to me, since my wire-hair had died the year before. I said, I'd think about it. They said, they would follow me home.
That was about 3 years ago.
Young Bert is currently living the life of fantasy of a tree-tied dog. I live alone in rural America, in the middle of small-farmland, with a crik below the house, pheasants in the brush, and literally hundreds of acres of farmland around me.
Young Bert can run, swim, stalk, chase, gallop endlessly to his heart's content. In winter, he serves as a 70 pound bed warmer. He lives in the house, and has only one human, but that human is mostly in constant attendence.
I hunt small game; pheasant hunting is a long-standing interest of mine (ever since I was a kid, sitting in the barber shop reading old Field and Stream, Outdoor Life, and Sports Afield magazines.
Bert is now an outstanding pheasant dog, and a remarkable (REALLY remarkable) retriever. But Young Bert got brain-damaged in his early years, and is hard-wired in ways that I can not change. He does not have a mean bone in his body. But he ain't right.
Even now, each time we go out, it is like a prison break for him. He is sure it will be the last time he ever gets to go out of the house. His muscles feel like polished marble, his enthusiasm has not yet been contained, and he has a joy of life that I envy beyound description.
He helps keep me alive.
BUT, he is too enthusiastic to ever have a friend take him if I go away for a while.
BTW, I shot the rabbit after walking through 8 inch snow that had been rained upon and fast-frozen with single digit temps for a week. My legs are going. Young Bert retrieved it from a patch of thorny bushes. (Rusty? I used the riot gun. Somehow it amuses me to have an extended magazine, short-barrelled, open bore 12 guage hunting something so fragile as rabbits. One day, I fully expect them to just surrender, instead of fleeing."ALL RIGHT, BUNNY, COME OUT WITH YOUR PAWS UP!")
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Any meat is possible to make barely palatable.
Prepared and cooked in the proper manner any meat can proudly be served before kings.
Remember, a pig's a$$ is pork, generally called ham.
Personally I love rabbit, preferably fried but if necessary, fried and then steamed to tenderness along with a delicious rabbit gravy over mashed potatos. A few pieces of frybread sets it off admirably!
Prepared and cooked in the proper manner any meat can proudly be served before kings. Remember, a pig's a$$ is pork, generally called ham.
Personally I love rabbit, preferably fried but if necessary, fried and then steamed to tenderness along with a delicious rabbit gravy over mashed potatos. A few pieces of frybread sets it off admirably!
Yvsa; post your rabbit recipe,please, I think I'm ready again for a rabbit hunt.
Kismet, my parents used to breed Siamese Cats. One day they got a papered male from a breeder. This breeder was a comercial enterprise, and the cat has spent his entire life in a cage. They decided they liked his brother better as stud and as he was not a house cat, they'd put him down. Somehow, Dad took him instead.
I called him the Auschwitz cat. Dad took him home and built a cage on the outside of the window. This way, the cat could stay in a cage- which was home, but wander into the house when he was ready. It took a long, long time before he was ready. I remember seeing him skirt around the edges of furniture and the wall, ducking out of sight. When I came over, he'd never come out. After many months, he'd even sit on Dad's lap. Eventually, he came to trust me too. Jerimiah was his name. He was finally even allowed out of doors. The world was shocking to him. He never walked quite right out there, kind of hunkered down.
I built Jeremiah a cat tree using strips of carpet and an orange tree I'd sculpted to shape. i built platforms. Jeramiah loved that tree. Dad said it wasn't a cat tree, it was a work of art. That tree sat next to Dad as he watched TV, and Jeremiah sat with Dad or on the tree. When guests came, he was on the top platform just below the ceiling, and out of reach.
We think a coyote killed Jeremiah in the grove, or he was stolen.
I liked old Jeremiah. He found his personality before he died. He was petted and loved and happy. He was an awful silly cat.
My parent's cats died one by one, and they quit cats and got dogs. I took the tree to my Father in Law's home as they had cats. Those cats did not like the tree. My mother in law thought the tree an ugly eyesore. My wife's father laughed and said, 'munk, I just don't know about that tree." He was a good guy.
I actually think I could have made custom cat trees from the wood in our grove, had I wanted to pursue it. My inlaws all thought I was crazy, and as I've mentioned, the tree utterly ridiculous. When I think of the carpeted particle board cat trees I've seen, with a box on top and at the bottom, all 45 degree angles, I wonder what is ridiculous.
munk
Kismet, my parents used to breed Siamese Cats. One day they got a papered male from a breeder. This breeder was a comercial enterprise, and the cat has spent his entire life in a cage. They decided they liked his brother better as stud and as he was not a house cat, they'd put him down. Somehow, Dad took him instead.
I called him the Auschwitz cat. Dad took him home and built a cage on the outside of the window. This way, the cat could stay in a cage- which was home, but wander into the house when he was ready. It took a long, long time before he was ready. I remember seeing him skirt around the edges of furniture and the wall, ducking out of sight. When I came over, he'd never come out. After many months, he'd even sit on Dad's lap. Eventually, he came to trust me too. Jerimiah was his name. He was finally even allowed out of doors. The world was shocking to him. He never walked quite right out there, kind of hunkered down.
I built Jeremiah a cat tree using strips of carpet and an orange tree I'd sculpted to shape. i built platforms. Jeramiah loved that tree. Dad said it wasn't a cat tree, it was a work of art. That tree sat next to Dad as he watched TV, and Jeremiah sat with Dad or on the tree. When guests came, he was on the top platform just below the ceiling, and out of reach.
We think a coyote killed Jeremiah in the grove, or he was stolen.
I liked old Jeremiah. He found his personality before he died. He was petted and loved and happy. He was an awful silly cat.
My parent's cats died one by one, and they quit cats and got dogs. I took the tree to my Father in Law's home as they had cats. Those cats did not like the tree. My mother in law thought the tree an ugly eyesore. My wife's father laughed and said, 'munk, I just don't know about that tree." He was a good guy.
I actually think I could have made custom cat trees from the wood in our grove, had I wanted to pursue it. My inlaws all thought I was crazy, and as I've mentioned, the tree utterly ridiculous. When I think of the carpeted particle board cat trees I've seen, with a box on top and at the bottom, all 45 degree angles, I wonder what is ridiculous.
munk
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Kismet,
thanks for the explanation.
It's always nice to hear when people save dogs form ****** situations.
A dog like Bertie being not-right just gives him more character IMO.
-Trevor
thanks for the explanation.
It's always nice to hear when people save dogs form ****** situations.
A dog like Bertie being not-right just gives him more character IMO.
-Trevor
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- Jan 30, 2002
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- 7,269
Munk, Buddy, everything is ridiculous.
One of the warps in Young Bert's brain is the desire to kill cats. Never had a dog want to do this before. Thought I could change his attitude, but apparently not. Folks have speculated that in the city, neighborhood cats have been known to torment chained dogs, somehow knowing exactly how far the chain allows the dogs to go. Maybe that is it.
A shame, really. I had an Anti-Cruelty cat, Max, for 17 years. I'd get another, but I don't want to force a confrontation with an irresistable compulsion to kill.
Kind of neat of your Dad to accomodate Jeremiah. Like Young Bert, he got a chance to have an environment to thrive. Would that we all could have such, eh?
One of the warps in Young Bert's brain is the desire to kill cats. Never had a dog want to do this before. Thought I could change his attitude, but apparently not. Folks have speculated that in the city, neighborhood cats have been known to torment chained dogs, somehow knowing exactly how far the chain allows the dogs to go. Maybe that is it.
A shame, really. I had an Anti-Cruelty cat, Max, for 17 years. I'd get another, but I don't want to force a confrontation with an irresistable compulsion to kill.
Kind of neat of your Dad to accomodate Jeremiah. Like Young Bert, he got a chance to have an environment to thrive. Would that we all could have such, eh?
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Dean?
Funny you should ask. For the last month or so, I can watch two or three rabbits come out and feed on the cracked corn I put out for the wild birds during the toughest weather (a few species of sparrows, some junkos, lovely doves, and incredible cardinals--so vibrantly colored against the snow, and the females so delicately tinted.)
If I slide the kitchen window up, I could have a 10 to 30 foot shot with a .22 or shotgun.
I can't do it. Legally, I could do it as rabbits are destructive to the apple trees in the yard. This is farm country. But somewhere I developed some unwritten rules of engagement.
If I'm out hunting, fine...I do my best to take them home for the larder.
If they are in the yard, just trying to survive the single-digit temps, or heavy snows...shooting them just isn't right. If anything, I've gone out and put out more corn upon occasion. I know, I'm not right either.
One of the advantages of aging is learning to accept that you are inconsistent, a little goofy, and that is just the way it is.
On COOKING: Usually, I use a pressure cooker for rabbit. They have little fat, lots of muscle, and the pressure cooker is fast, thorough, and easy to clean. You can cook the rabbit, separate and maybe cut the meat into bite-size sections, checker for shot pellets, add potatoes, onion, and carrots if you have them. A little water, back on the heat, and you have a soup or stew that you can rest your spoon on and which laughs at winter weather.
There have seemed to be a lot of pressure cookers at resale shops in recent years. A lot of people are afraid of them. To me, they pre-date and excel compared to microwave cooking.
Yuh nSuh? You got any foods with which frybread ISN'T good?
Be well and safe.
Funny you should ask. For the last month or so, I can watch two or three rabbits come out and feed on the cracked corn I put out for the wild birds during the toughest weather (a few species of sparrows, some junkos, lovely doves, and incredible cardinals--so vibrantly colored against the snow, and the females so delicately tinted.)
If I slide the kitchen window up, I could have a 10 to 30 foot shot with a .22 or shotgun.
I can't do it. Legally, I could do it as rabbits are destructive to the apple trees in the yard. This is farm country. But somewhere I developed some unwritten rules of engagement.
If I'm out hunting, fine...I do my best to take them home for the larder.
If they are in the yard, just trying to survive the single-digit temps, or heavy snows...shooting them just isn't right. If anything, I've gone out and put out more corn upon occasion. I know, I'm not right either.
One of the advantages of aging is learning to accept that you are inconsistent, a little goofy, and that is just the way it is.
On COOKING: Usually, I use a pressure cooker for rabbit. They have little fat, lots of muscle, and the pressure cooker is fast, thorough, and easy to clean. You can cook the rabbit, separate and maybe cut the meat into bite-size sections, checker for shot pellets, add potatoes, onion, and carrots if you have them. A little water, back on the heat, and you have a soup or stew that you can rest your spoon on and which laughs at winter weather.
There have seemed to be a lot of pressure cookers at resale shops in recent years. A lot of people are afraid of them. To me, they pre-date and excel compared to microwave cooking.
Yuh nSuh? You got any foods with which frybread ISN'T good?
Be well and safe.
Ben Arown-Awile
Banned
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Like the pots the Cannibals cooked the Missionaries in?munk said:
I would love to find one of those. I think it would make a great hot tub.
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Here's a recipe that is from a 1967 Field and Stream sportsmans cooking cook book. It's great for squirrels...I think dad used it for rabbits ocassionally too.
Fricasseed Squirrel
1 squirrel cut up (we used at least 2-3)
1/2 teaspoon salt
pinch of pepper
1/2 cup flour
3 slices of bacon chopped (if you are useing that thin stuff add more)
1 tablespoon sliced onion ( we usually did half a small onion)
1 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice
1/3 cup broth ( adjust for the # of squirrel...up to 1 cup for 3)
Rub pieces with salt and pepper.
roll in flour. (not you! the squirrel...jeez)
Pan fry with the chopped bacon for 30 minutes. Add onion, lemon juice, broth and cover tightly cook slowly for three hours.
Easy way to clean rabbits...
make 2-3 inch cut down low in the gut cavity...grab rabbit by the front feet and swing like a baseball bat! make sure no one is in the outfield
My brother is still p.o.ed about that one.
Next grab the rabbit in the middle of the back, pinch some skin and make a cut accross in the skin. Grab both sides of the cut and pull. He's undressed. Use wire nips to cut off the feet w/skin. Quick and neat.
Fricasseed Squirrel
1 squirrel cut up (we used at least 2-3)
1/2 teaspoon salt
pinch of pepper
1/2 cup flour
3 slices of bacon chopped (if you are useing that thin stuff add more)
1 tablespoon sliced onion ( we usually did half a small onion)
1 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice
1/3 cup broth ( adjust for the # of squirrel...up to 1 cup for 3)
Rub pieces with salt and pepper.
roll in flour. (not you! the squirrel...jeez)
Pan fry with the chopped bacon for 30 minutes. Add onion, lemon juice, broth and cover tightly cook slowly for three hours.
Easy way to clean rabbits...
make 2-3 inch cut down low in the gut cavity...grab rabbit by the front feet and swing like a baseball bat! make sure no one is in the outfield
My brother is still p.o.ed about that one. Next grab the rabbit in the middle of the back, pinch some skin and make a cut accross in the skin. Grab both sides of the cut and pull. He's undressed. Use wire nips to cut off the feet w/skin. Quick and neat.
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Y'all are making me hungry. I haven't been squirrel hunting in a long time!
Rattlesnake is a Cherokee delicacy on the Eastern side of the US. I love it rolled in cornmeal! Groundhog, is a tough meat, but if you cook it right, it tastes like bear.
Rattlesnake is a Cherokee delicacy on the Eastern side of the US. I love it rolled in cornmeal! Groundhog, is a tough meat, but if you cook it right, it tastes like bear.
'delicacy'? err...
Where did the Cherokee historically roam? They were on the Northern most border of the Eastern Diamondback, or no?
If you cooked it for me, Lion's, I'd eat it, and happy.
All this talk about small game brings back memories of just plain good fun and good food. Though there are ads for machismo squirrel hunters, the dumb blunt badness of the Big Game hunting is usually absent of such.
I mean, how macho can a guy who wants to be seen as macho get from a rabbit?
munk
Where did the Cherokee historically roam? They were on the Northern most border of the Eastern Diamondback, or no?
If you cooked it for me, Lion's, I'd eat it, and happy.
All this talk about small game brings back memories of just plain good fun and good food. Though there are ads for machismo squirrel hunters, the dumb blunt badness of the Big Game hunting is usually absent of such.
I mean, how macho can a guy who wants to be seen as macho get from a rabbit?
munk
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- Apr 11, 2004
- Messages
- 828
Cherokee territory before the Trail of Tears was in Tennessee, North Georgia, and parts of Virginia, Alabama and Kentucky. I don't remember how long the Tsalagi people have been here, before coming down from the Northern areas. The old medicine men here talk about the Indians that were in these parts before, there tribe was without a name to the best of my knowledge.
reminds me - if you ever read the book, the Education of Little Tree, it was written about the area where I grew up. Clinch mountains in Tennessee are tremendously rocky and are prime gathering places for rattlers. That may be more history than you want to know...
reminds me - if you ever read the book, the Education of Little Tree, it was written about the area where I grew up. Clinch mountains in Tennessee are tremendously rocky and are prime gathering places for rattlers. That may be more history than you want to know...