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.  Apparently, they either hated football or wanted to be close to Granny Anderson's hidden stash of adult beverages.  Or maybe they just like sitting in the kitchen waiting for the dirty dishes to come in.

Please don't yell at me, ladies.  My grandparents were both born in the 19-teens, had lived through the Depression, it was the early-70s, 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.  I can also recall more than one occasion where Granny Anderson was fed up with Grandpa and whacked him over the head with her cast iron frying pan.  I'm not sure if Grandpa was ever able to recall those moments though.  That was about a three-pound skillet.

ANYWAY.....

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

He picked up a piece of squirrel.  

He looked at the squirrel.  

He looked at the squirrel again.  

Tears welled in his eyes.

He gurgled.

Upon the slight recovery he was able to manage, he called cheerfully to my grandmother (if "cheerful" can be defined by a quivering voice with a slightly "gagged" feel to it).

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

"HELEN!!"  This would be my Granny Anderson's first name.

"Yay-uh??" said Granny Anderson in her thick Ozark drawl.  After living in Michigan for over 50 years, she still sounded like she was hailing a NASCAR taxi with chaw (t'backy) in her mouth. 

She came into the living room to see what bug my dad had up his butt, as was her wont.  She always thought my dad had a bug up his butt and wasn't afraid to tell him.

"What in THE hell is this??" spewed my father, slobbering running 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.  

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 wept openly, his meal effectively over.  The rest of the clan burst out in mirthful glee at his predicament and were greeted with less-than-loving tearful glances.  Dad ate not the first bite of his two plates of food and hasn't eaten squirrel to this day.