Iggy At The Snap

Lately while walking I've been trying, admittedly half-hearted, to take a picture of a "in the wilds" squirrel. After several previous attempts at Betzwood, I have found this to be harder that I expected.

So today I resolved to capture one on (digital) film. I donned my war paint and would have girded my loins if I knew what it meant to do so - I think it means "put on your underpants" - and I headed to Betzwood with camera loaded with fresh batteries and soft soled shoes - all the better for sneaking up on those elusive beasts.

In the paraphrased and mangled words of Ernest Lawrence Thayer, who wrote the immortal poem, "Casey at the Bat", here are the results of my expedition and hours long hunt.

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Iggyman that day:
The score stood four to none, with but one outing underway.
And then when clouds arrived at first, and shadows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Iggy could get but a shot perhaps -
We'd put up even money, now, with Iggy at the snap.

...

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Iggy, crazy Iggy, was advancing to the snap.

There was ease in Iggy's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Iggy's bearing and a smile on Iggy's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Iggy at the snap.

...

And now the fur-covered squirrel came hurtling through the air,
And Iggy stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
...
"That ain't my style," said Iggy. "Strike one," the umpire said.



...

With a smile of Christian charity great Iggy's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the hunt go on;
He fingered softly the shutter, and once more the squirrel flew;
But Iggy still overlooked it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."



...

The sneer is gone from Iggy's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his hat and ponders his cruel fate.
And now the branches holds the beast, and now the shutters go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Iggy's bellow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Betzwood - mighty Iggy has struck out.



Source Of Original Poem


Postscript: Just as I was nearly back to the car after a long walk and darkness was falling, I got me some squirrel ass.


I guess in hindsight (ugh, pun intended) its just as well the shot is blurry.