“They’re one of the best meats if they’re prepared right.”
That is how eating squirrels was described to me by my guide last week, in western Kentucky. If anyone would know, it should be him.
Still, I remained skeptical, to say the least.
This took place during the Association of Great Lakes Outdoor Writers conference, held this year at beautiful Kentucky Lake. To a writer and outdoorsman, the great thing about visiting different places every year is the opportunity to do new, fun things.
Kentucky Lake was no different.
When they floated the idea of hunting squirrels by dog, I said, “Yes, count me in!”
I love hunting, dogs, and novel experiences. And while I had never hunted squirrels with dogs, it didn’t occur to me that the experience might be just as familiar as foreign.
The morning began under a picnic shelter, as the sun struggled to penetrate moisture-laden clouds. We received guns and instructions, and divided into “teams.” I joined up with Jacob Van Houten, writer and biology professor from Michigan.
Our guide for the day was Kevin Bennett, an avid squirrel hunter from that area. He whisked us off to a location deep in Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area, a place rich in trees and squirrels — and decidedly lacking in flat land.
I will also note “LBL” was rich in humidity that day. About 180%, by my estimation.
Anyway, Bennett collared and loosed Mini, his 2-year-old, 22-pound Feist. She quickly disappeared into the woods on a jaunty trot, ears perked, tail high and wagging.
Feists are used to hunt squirrels in the southeastern U.S. They’re compact, muscular and generally said to be descended from terriers.
Though not universally accepted as a “breed,” their history is longer than some breeds we see in televised dog shows.
Despite her age, Mini showed remarkable competence, no doubt formed by bred-in instinct and countless days already accrued in the field. She moved with enthusiasm and a scrappy determination.
You know, feisty.
Mini soon found the day’s first squirrel, high in the Kentucky jungle. Her raspy yip let Kevin know she was sure of it, too.
We rushed to catch up with her.
By the time we got there, that squirrel had hidden itself far up in the leaves of an oak. Jacob and I were instructed to stand on opposite sides of the tree and watch for signs of movement.
If that squirrel were to show itself, we needed to act as fast as possible.
If memory serves, that was the first of several scoundrels that would escape unharmed, as well as the first of many, many times that Jacob and I would empty our guns to no avail.
This didn’t seem to bother Kevin much. He offered some insights that would help boost our odds the next time — which proved almost prescient — and we moved on.
Through casual conversation, it became clear to me that Kevin is a genuine woodsman. His knowledge of his quarry runs deep, from their escape instincts to food habits.
“They start out on hickories, and they’re transferring over to oak right now. Mainly red oak,” he said. “We have some white oak, but they like red oak better than they do white oak. And they usually save the walnuts until the last.”
Indeed, red oaks were abundant in that spot, and nearly every squirrel we saw was in one.
It would be easy to get the impression that Kevin has been chasing squirrels over dogs all his life. That isn’t the case, however.
He used to hunt quail with English setters and pointers, just as many of us do up here for pheasants. But the quail gradually went away, and he needed another pursuit.
So, a couple decades ago, it seemed like the thing to do was to get a squirrel dog.
He was already a squirrel hunter, and folks in the area were beginning to use dogs for squirrels and rabbits.
“I’ve always still hunted. But after I got my dogs, everybody said ‘you’ll quit still hunting’ and I did,” he said.
A common theme among those of us with hunting dogs is that the dogs become almost more important to us than the hunting. Many say they wouldn’t hunt without their dog, and Kevin is apparently no different.
He didn’t have to say much to Mini while we were afield. Instructions were few, and rebukes were unneeded.
For her part, Mini’s physical cues told Kevin everything. He knew how certain she was of the presence of a squirrel, even if she hadn’t seen it.
If she had, he could tell that, too.
The connection between man and beast was immediately recognizable to this dog owner. The way Kevin assessed Mini was very much like the way I would “read” my dog on point with a bird.
It’s a partnership; understanding runs deep. Together, they’re far more effective than either would be alone.
It was no surprise, then, when Kevin said they bag upwards of a thousand squirrels a season.
With that kind of record, three squirrels between a pair of Yankees might have seemed a pitiful outcome for the morning. But Kevin put us at ease, explaining how much more difficult it is while the trees are still fully green.
“Overall, if you see ‘em now, you done good,” he said. “And if you kill ‘em, it’s just that much better.”
As we returned to the rendezvous point, Kevin described his favorite ways to eat squirrel. He mentioned dumplings (apparently a regional favorite), frying, slow cookers and barbecue.
It all sounded good. I waxed optimistic about lunch.
The bushytails bagged by all the teams were used for seminars at the conference later that morning. In the first, we learned from another local expert about cleaning squirrels. In the second, we cooked them.
Everyone I’ve told has wanted to know if it “tastes like chicken.” I hate to put it in those terms, but it was tender, mild-flavored, and almost sweet.
Once again, Kevin was right; it’s one of the best meats.
I wonder if my wife would let me get a squirrel dog, er, dawg.
Roy Heilman is an outdoorsman, writer, musician, and ethnic Minnesotan. His adventures take him all over the map, but he’s always home at neveragoosechase.com.
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