Dad LOVED to Fish but He was NOT a Hunter!!
I think you will be able to tell that from this poem that Dad wrote!!!
"Poor Squirrel"

Poor Squirrel in the tree,
Hunter on the ground.
Sitting there awaiting,
For Squirrel to make a sound.

Rifle in his hand,
Murder in his heart,
Just sitting there awaiting,
Poor Squirrel to blow apart.
Now just suppose this hunter,
Was way up in that tree.
And Squirrel was on the ground,
Alooking up at He.
Now don't it make you wonder,
Don't it make you start
To think of Squirrel there on the ground,
With murder in his heart?

E.H. Coe 1978
Squirrel graphic from " Snick's"