I was the one who would always help my grandpa clean whatever he brought home from a day of hunting. As long as the head was cut off, that is. If the head was still on it, my heart just ached and I couldn't help him... Rabbit, squirrel, it didn't matter. If I saw it and the head was still attached, my heart just broke and I wouldn't even be able to eat any of it.<quoted text>Like I told my son's father, an avid hunter, as long as I don't have to meet it, clean it, I can cook it and eat it. hahaha
So he knew not to call me outside after he got back from hunting until he had already cut the heads off and hid them from me.
Still to this day, I have no idea where he'd put them. No doubt, probably just a little shallow hole with them in it was right under my feet as I helped him gut and skin everything, hehe.
I was a strange kid I guess....