Back when my armpits were as smooth as a baby's behind, it was unthinkable to pass up an opportunity to put meat in the freezer. Back then, fishermen would have regarded the practice of catch-and-release as playing with your food.

Chasing rabbits rates behind only the pursuit of deer and squirrels as the most popular sort of hunting in Bama's woodlands. Photo by Polly Dean.

At that time, small-game hunting was also king in Alabama -- mainly because big game was scarce. And, of course, what you shot went home to the dinner table.

Now that whitetail deer are everywhere and outnumber deer hunters eight to one -- in a day that collecting venison comes with the added bonus of possible hanging a trophy rack on the wall -- the number of small-game hunters has shrunk faster than the Chattahoochee, Tallapoosa and Coosa rivers in recent drought. As a result, squirrel and rabbit populations are exploding.

I wish I could say the same about wild quail -- but I can't. Fortunately, Alabamians have some other choices for hunting that species in the form of numerous commercial bobwhite operations.

For those of you who've never tried or simply forgotten the thrill of still-hunting bushytails, listening to a pack of beagles churning through a briar patch or watching a brace of bird dogs play the wind, there's never been a better time to go after the Cotton State's "mighty minis." Best of all, it won't break your budget.

The seasons for squirrel and rabbit hunting are long; having opened back on Oct. 1, they'll run through Feb. 28, 2009. The quail season opened on Nov. 15 and also continues through the end of February.

SQUIRRELS
Leaning against a glass counter in a Georgiana hardware store a few years back, I was talking to proprietor Royce Lowery about the origins of his "Carson Ann" ribbon cane syrup, when the bells above the door clinked. A couple of young boys who'd parked their bicycles out front walked in, and Royce excused himself. Only he and his wife were working that day, and I think she'd gone to the bank.

"What can I do for you gentlemen this fine day?" he asked.

"Shotgun shells?" the oldest stammered.

"High-brass," the other added.

If we'd been anywhere other than rural Alabama, or if this had taken place inside one of the big box stores, security might've been called. But the only grudges held by these kids at Georgiana High School dealt with ridding their corner of Butler County of as many squirrels as possible.

Royce's variety was slim. He had only one type of shot shell suitable for bushytails. But to hear him tell it, the dusty box he held up was the answer to their prayers -- the Holy Grail of squirrel hunting ammo.

"This here is what you need," he smiled. "I guarantee it'll knock a squirrel out of the biggest tree in the county."

The boys grinned at each other, and the oldest dug some wrinkled bills out of his jeans pocket.

"Y'all go kill a sackful," was Royce's parting shot; he then turned back to me: "Now where were we?"

I was there to collect information for a newspaper story I was writing about ribbon cane syrup. Those couple of hours I spent inside the dark store beside the tracks in Georgiana amounted to one of the best interviews I've had the pleasure of conducting. Even if I can't remember the origins of Carson Ann syrup -- except for the fact it was named after Royce's granddaughter, whose photo is on the label -- I'll never forget the transaction that took place.