[In the face of possible danger, Doyle is too busy making a grossed-out face at that squirrel there. Because. Even if he was any good at snare-work, he'd never be happy skinning animals once they're taken out of the traps, he realizes. It's just. Gross. But he digresses.]

Eugh. Rest in peace, I guess, little guy.

[And he's back to looking at his line, sighing.]

I think you're probably having more luck than me. You ever do any fishing in this lake? I was steeplin' my fingers for some catfish, but I think my chances are pretty low.

[He's got two little fish, at least. That's something, right?]