Ratdog68
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Read a post on 68forums last night that reminded me of a similar memory of a family member. His tale was that if he brought squirrel home that he'd head shot, his grandmother would be upset that he'd ruined The Best Part... since she liked squirrel brains and eggs.
1984 was the first time I got to hunt with my dad (that's another tale). So, there we are in the wilds of the Alaskan arctic tundra. We'd come across a small herd of caribou, and had gotten what we needed. However, since the bag limit up there is generous, I decided I wanted to get some meat for dad's aunt, Elsie. Elsie was a very jolly soul. Anything and everything was a reason to laugh for her... and it wasn't put-on, she just liked to laugh. It was more fun to watch HER watching TV, than it was to actually watch what was on. She'd jump, scream, cover her mouth/eyes, yell "OH NO !!! Look out !!!" Elsie was getting up in years, her husband had died, her son lived in a town a couple of hundred miles away (and, did what he could to help her). Her daughter lived nearby... but got help from Elsie as much as she helped Elsie... and Elsie was raising a grandson as her own child.
After picking out a nice caribou for Elsie, we headed back to dad's cabin to process our game. Cabin life was cool, spread a tarp on the floor to catch drippings of blood and hang the critter from the rafters while you work... and no women hollering at you for messing up the place. I digress. Having come fully prepared for the hunt, I set to work. Good rotation of fresh blades, sharpening gear for break time, rolls of plastic wrap, rolls of butcher paper, tape, marking pen, coolers/boxes. After carefully boning out every creature, cutting roasts, slicing steaks, sorting the "grinder pile" and "sausage/scrap pile"... everything got carefully double wrapped in plastic, then butcher paper and marked. Since it was COLD out, put the box of packaged meat outside the door and let it freeze hard in a couple of hours' time.
We get back to "town" (Kotzebue, AK), and dad and I make Elsie's place our first stop. "Ahna" (grandma), we brought you some caribou (I announced), and asked her where she wanted it. Elsie comes laughing and heads for the porch where her chest freezer is and gets this curious look on her face after I carefully place the packets of meat (portioned to suit two people) into her freezer... and she asks: "Where's the Puttucks?" Ahna? (I ask)... What are "Puttucks?" Her reply was a very motivated, "That's the BEEEESSST Part !!!" (I'd neglected to bring her the heavy bones full of marrow). I'm sorry, Ahna... I left those out on the tundra to feed the foxes. We collected our hugs and kisses and had our visit.
The next time I went hunting... same scenario. THIS time, I saved the pile of "Puttucks" !!! Triumphantly, I bring her a butchered caribou, and a box of bones. "Where's the heart and tongue? That's the BEEEEESSST Part !!" I'm sorry Ahna, I left those on the tundra to feed the foxes. Again, collected our hugs/kisses and had our visit.
The next time I went hunting... same scenario. THIS time, I saved the Puttucks, and wrapped up the hearts/tongues. Again, brought her all the carefully butchered/wrapped portions of her caribou, and "The Beeeessst Parts" I'd neglected to bring earlier. I KNEW I'd nailed it this time. "Where's the Bible??" Ahna? What on EARTH is "The Bible????" She wasn't sure how to describe it for me, so she deferred to my dad to "edjumicate" me on the finer points of caribou harvesting procedures (But, proclaimed that it was "The BEEEESST Part !!!"). He explains to me that it's a hollow organ of the digestive system where you'll find pebbles and such, it's used to help process their food. When it was cut open and laid out for rinsing, it looked like an open book, with pages. Hence, the nickname of "The Bible". And, while we're at it, the linings used to make sausage. And, that as much as she's appreciated all the added work of cutting/wrapping, she likes her caribou in just the quarters and rib cages "halved". It's what she's used to, and what she knows... she can just take her bow saw out and cut off the part she wants to cook that day. As usual, while collecting the hugs/kisses for bringing her the meat, I announced to her: "Ahna, next time I'm just going to knock your caribou on the head and drag him here and tie him to your railing and you can do with him as you wish." That netted me a howling laugh and an extra firm hug.
As we're headed out the door, I look at my dad and ask: "Why didn't you tell me all of this in the first place?" "You didn't ask." was his reply.
And, THAT (my friends) is what you get when you fail to ask the old folks how to do it.
1984 was the first time I got to hunt with my dad (that's another tale). So, there we are in the wilds of the Alaskan arctic tundra. We'd come across a small herd of caribou, and had gotten what we needed. However, since the bag limit up there is generous, I decided I wanted to get some meat for dad's aunt, Elsie. Elsie was a very jolly soul. Anything and everything was a reason to laugh for her... and it wasn't put-on, she just liked to laugh. It was more fun to watch HER watching TV, than it was to actually watch what was on. She'd jump, scream, cover her mouth/eyes, yell "OH NO !!! Look out !!!" Elsie was getting up in years, her husband had died, her son lived in a town a couple of hundred miles away (and, did what he could to help her). Her daughter lived nearby... but got help from Elsie as much as she helped Elsie... and Elsie was raising a grandson as her own child.
After picking out a nice caribou for Elsie, we headed back to dad's cabin to process our game. Cabin life was cool, spread a tarp on the floor to catch drippings of blood and hang the critter from the rafters while you work... and no women hollering at you for messing up the place. I digress. Having come fully prepared for the hunt, I set to work. Good rotation of fresh blades, sharpening gear for break time, rolls of plastic wrap, rolls of butcher paper, tape, marking pen, coolers/boxes. After carefully boning out every creature, cutting roasts, slicing steaks, sorting the "grinder pile" and "sausage/scrap pile"... everything got carefully double wrapped in plastic, then butcher paper and marked. Since it was COLD out, put the box of packaged meat outside the door and let it freeze hard in a couple of hours' time.
We get back to "town" (Kotzebue, AK), and dad and I make Elsie's place our first stop. "Ahna" (grandma), we brought you some caribou (I announced), and asked her where she wanted it. Elsie comes laughing and heads for the porch where her chest freezer is and gets this curious look on her face after I carefully place the packets of meat (portioned to suit two people) into her freezer... and she asks: "Where's the Puttucks?" Ahna? (I ask)... What are "Puttucks?" Her reply was a very motivated, "That's the BEEEESSST Part !!!" (I'd neglected to bring her the heavy bones full of marrow). I'm sorry, Ahna... I left those out on the tundra to feed the foxes. We collected our hugs and kisses and had our visit.
The next time I went hunting... same scenario. THIS time, I saved the pile of "Puttucks" !!! Triumphantly, I bring her a butchered caribou, and a box of bones. "Where's the heart and tongue? That's the BEEEEESSST Part !!" I'm sorry Ahna, I left those on the tundra to feed the foxes. Again, collected our hugs/kisses and had our visit.
The next time I went hunting... same scenario. THIS time, I saved the Puttucks, and wrapped up the hearts/tongues. Again, brought her all the carefully butchered/wrapped portions of her caribou, and "The Beeeessst Parts" I'd neglected to bring earlier. I KNEW I'd nailed it this time. "Where's the Bible??" Ahna? What on EARTH is "The Bible????" She wasn't sure how to describe it for me, so she deferred to my dad to "edjumicate" me on the finer points of caribou harvesting procedures (But, proclaimed that it was "The BEEEESST Part !!!"). He explains to me that it's a hollow organ of the digestive system where you'll find pebbles and such, it's used to help process their food. When it was cut open and laid out for rinsing, it looked like an open book, with pages. Hence, the nickname of "The Bible". And, while we're at it, the linings used to make sausage. And, that as much as she's appreciated all the added work of cutting/wrapping, she likes her caribou in just the quarters and rib cages "halved". It's what she's used to, and what she knows... she can just take her bow saw out and cut off the part she wants to cook that day. As usual, while collecting the hugs/kisses for bringing her the meat, I announced to her: "Ahna, next time I'm just going to knock your caribou on the head and drag him here and tie him to your railing and you can do with him as you wish." That netted me a howling laugh and an extra firm hug.
As we're headed out the door, I look at my dad and ask: "Why didn't you tell me all of this in the first place?" "You didn't ask." was his reply.
And, THAT (my friends) is what you get when you fail to ask the old folks how to do it.
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