At the end of the carol service, the vicar invited us to stay for a cup of tea and a mince pie, to be served at the back of the church. Seeing me standing alone with my cup and saucer, one of the elderly parishioners approached with a smile of Christian welcome. I was afraid she was going to ask me if I knew that Jesus loved me. But instead she wanted to tell me how many squirrels she’d shot — 35 of the ‘beggars’ since October. They plunder her hanging bird feeders. She leans out of her bedroom window and pots them, she claimed, with a .22 air rifle.
Though delighted to hear it, I didn’t fully believe her. Years ago I tried to kill a rabbit with a .177 airgun and the business was so horrible and prolonged I vowed never again. ‘From what sort of range are you shooting them?’ I said.
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