A Day in the Life at The Off Grid Ark: The Squirrel, The Deer, and a Whole Lot of Thinking

Monique’s out in Vancouver this week touring ice-breakers for work, so it’s just me holding down the fort. Yesterday started like most days up here — quiet, peaceful, and me settling into work at my desk — until a big black squirrel bolted out from under my roof and across the bay window beside me.

Ah man... not again.

I absolutely hate killing animals, but I also can’t have one tearing up my roof or chewing through wires. So I grabbed my .22 and stepped outside.

I found him scrambling across the exterior wall, but when he say me he sprinted to the nearest tree. I took a shot — thought I hit him — but he kept moving. A few trees over, I saw him tucked in behind a notch at the top of a birch. I took my second shot. He dropped instantly.

Necessary. But awful. Headshots are my favourite though.

As I turned back toward the house, a deer walked in — no rush, no fear, just curiosity. She got within about 30 feet, close enough to see the squirrel on the ground, and we just stood there together for a few minutes. Seriously we just stood there looking at each other for 3-4 minutes.

And in that strange, quiet moment, I found myself reflecting on something I think a lot of people struggle with:
I love animals, and yet I eat them.

I live trap mice and relocate them kilometers away because I don’t want to kill them. I hate taking any life, even when it’s required. But when it comes to food? Steak? Bacon? Pork chops? I still order them without thinking twice. And pork hits me the hardest — pigs are basically dogs with hooves. Smart, social, capable of forming bonds. Yet pork is delicious and cheaper than beef.

If Monique were vegetarian, I think I’d follow her lead pretty easily. But she’s not — and she’s a great cook — And I'm certainly not blaming her for my meal choices because I don't think I have once ordered the vegetarian option at restaurant.

And yet… I think about it all the time.

Standing there with that deer, I felt the hypocrisy sharper than usual. And that’s when it hit me:

If I had to kill the squirrel, then letting it go to waste felt worse than eating it.

So I brought it inside. Watched a couple YouTube videos on skinning and gutting. Then I went to ChatGPT to map out the cooking plan. I wanted it tender, not chewy, so I slow-cooked it all afternoon in a crock pot bowl set on the woodstove.

Preparing the squirrel for dinner after deciding not to let the animal go to waste.

When dinner rolled around, I fired up the small Kamado grill to 400°F and crisped each side for three minutes. And since Monique was away, I figured I might as well cook something that wasn’t pizza or leftover brisket. So I roasted potatoes, made a fresh applesauce, tossed a salad, and even poured a Shiraz.

The squirrel?
It was actually… decent.
Tender, mild, not chicken but not strange either. A solid 5/10 on its own, maybe a 7/10 with a proper glaze or sauce. A bit of sour cream definitely helped.

I’m still not thrilled that I killed it, but at least I didn’t waste it, and I cooked it with real intention.

The squirrel spent the afternoon slow-cooking on the woodstove with simple vegetables to keep the meat tender.

As with most of my writing, I know how it's going to start, but don't have a plan for how it will end.

And that’s where this one shifted direction.

It got me thinking about an old memory from when I was volunteering in Guyana…

Every so often, we’d get an extra $5 to buy a chicken from the market. Linden and I would walk there talking about how good dinner was going to be — picturing the chicken on the plate, not the part that had to happen first.

When we picked out our chicken from a roadside vendor, the vendor went to snap its neck right in front of us. We stopped him on instinct. We wanted the meat, but we didn’t watch a murder. We ended up heading further into the town center where we found to a butcher who killed it behind a wall where we couldn’t see.

Ridiculous, right?
We were fine with something dying for our meal — as long as we weren’t confronted with it.

That’s how most people live now. We make ourselves believe that meat comes from the grocery store and try not to think about the trucks, the slaughterhouses, or the process that gets it onto the plate. It’s easier not to engage with that part of it.

The Georgetown market in Guyana, where I once bought a chicken for dinner during my volunteer days — an experience that shaped how I think about meat and where it comes from.

Days like yesterday rip that distance away.

I’m not saying folks need to be vegetarian. I’m not saying everyone should hunt. I’m not saying anything, really, other than this:

It’s worth being conscious of the choices we make.

Monique and I used to do “meatless Mondays,” and leftovers carried into Tuesday — two nights a week without meat. Not a revolution, but a start. And small starts can lead to meaningful changes.

Yesterday didn’t end the way I expected. But it gave me something to think about. Maybe it’ll do the same for you.