I Kill Animals For Sport and I Enjoy It

I love Inflammatory titles. I do not do this just to stir up some passion in
you dear reader, instead I strive to get to the point as quick as I can. With
this hobby of mine there can be no denying its aims. I go into the woods, I try
and find small cat sized birds (pheasants), and I try and kill them with a gun.
If you still do not believe me, and frankly it may be hard to blame you given
the rest of the articles on this blog, here is some recent photographic

So why do I do this? You may be tempted into thinking I am a sadist. I am
sure that would be the opinion of PETA. To be fair, It would be untruthful of
me to say that I do not derive some base thrill in the act. Humans have been
hunting animals to survive before we could yet form words. The need is now
passed, but the instinct and feeling remains. This is not the reason though. A
popular explanation is hunting is just another aspect of a nature lover. I too
will confess to enjoying the forest scenery in spurts. It is generally too
early or not light enough for me to fully enjoy it however. You would think an
ex-boy scout would take more joy just being in the woods, but I have always
been more at home in my home. How about enjoying the sport aspect? That thought
is pretty close. There is a fair bit of competition between human and prey.
Pheasants are pretty cunning animals. They hunker down until you are right on
top of them and can move deceptively fast on the ground. Their speed through
the air is nothing special, but given the chance, they can put much distance
between themselves and you with wings alone. Even with all my technology and
skill, my success rate this season is 0%, which is worse than seasons past, but
not by much. This is not my main reason though. Consider a popular question
poised when I tell people I hunt: “Do you eat what you get?”

Yes, emphatically yes, that is why I am getting up before dawn and walking
around in the cold. Why I am covered in bright orange. Why I am wading through
muddy field with tall grass. I am not looking for Pokemon, I am looking for
meat. To put it simply, I eat the flesh of a once living creature. I have to be
willing to do some of the dirty work myself. We live in an industrialized
country with an efficient meat industry. All the blood work happens behind the
scenes. All we get is a Styrofoam plate, some plastic, and a red hunk of
organic material. We are so removed that it becomes easy to rationalize and
forget that this was once a living creature. A creature with thoughts, however
simple. One of those thoughts was survival, but we ignored that for our own
gain. We are queens and kings of the food chain so we have that right, but as
royalty we have a noblesse oblige and that is to not forget that we killed
something to live. I must not forget that, but I have to be pragmatic. I cannot
raise cows and chickens. The expense, the time, the skill, the first I care not
for and the last two I lack. This is my own small recognition of what others do
on my behalf.

Do not fool yourself into thinking you are some how lessened for not taking
part in this little ritual of mine. For me, I must act to appreciate their
sacrifice. Just appreciate that something died so you can live. Something to
chew on.

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