Eldest daughter Muffin is “fashion forward” and knows everything about clothing. Maybe she can keep us shielded from the elements with chicken feathers and groundhog fur. I know how to operate a chainsaw and have 10 fingers and 10 toes to prove it. (Never mind the – oops – shredded work boot and overall cuff.) Thanks to my chainsaw, the tree farm, and the many fireplaces in our old farmhouse, we’ll keep warm. “There’s a family of squirrels living in the chimney,” says my wife. Smelly, but warm. We’ll need fuel for the chainsaw, however. But middle child Poppet is studying chemistry in high school. “We can distill ethanol fuel from spruce logs, right, Poppet?” I ask. “I’m studying biology,” says Poppet. “I can dissect a frog.” And it just so happens we have a whole pond full of frogs! Frog legs taste like chicken. Buster is the expert at taking care of chickens. (He’s grounded for a month.) Looking over this inventory, I realize... We’re screwed. I know that, as a family, if we want to survive economic collapse, we should start learning how to become “survivalists.” Or, as I guess they call it nowadays, “preppers.”
Which, being that I’m a hunter, I intend to shoot. Spaghetti Groundhogolonese . Because I’m a hunter, the family will expect me to put meat on the table. Although what kind of meat they should be expecting (other than groundhog) is another matter. To tell the truth, the kind of hunter I am is the go-to-a-fancy-quail-plantation kind, where they chase a lot of birds at you and every now and then you shoot a quail (or, if you’re Dick Cheney, a lawyer). I have a small, lightweight, fancy-quail- plantation type of shotgun, a 28-gauge side-by- side firing little shells with 7½ shot in them. Using this to shoot something that would feed a family (which a quail wouldn’t) is problematic. I might as well throw a frisbee at Canadian geese. As for actual big game, such as moose, my only hope would be something like a mafia hit. I’d have to lure the moose to a sit-down someplace where it thought it was safe (Loyal Order of Moose fraternal gathering at the local Moose Lodge?), and sneak up behind it, and at very close range... Bada Bing! And even this, with a 28-gauge and 7½ shot, might only annoy the moose. I decide I should take an inventory of the survival skills that we have in our family. My wife was PR executive before the kids came along. If the economic collapse needs some good press, she’s the go-to person.
If we want to survive economic collapse, we should start learning how to become “survivalists.” Or, as I guess they call it nowadays, “preppers.”
44 November 2018
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