Not a hunting fan
When I was a child and read Wilson Rawls'
Where the Red Fern Grows, I have to admit that I developed an appreciation for the
idea of having your dogs chase down an animal and then engage in a human-vs.-prey test of ingenuity and nerve. (Sometimes, this process, working without guns, requires the cutting down of the tree the animal is in.)
Flash forward to reality.
When I was in college, I happened to attend a party at a house in the rich neighborhood of my girlfriend's hometown. Located on the golf course, the home was owned by a "good man" (according to those who knew him) who "has his head on straight" (apparently unlike most in the world). Nonetheless, the home was decorated with hunting trophys. Ducks,
bears, beavers, you name it. And he always had two. Regardless of the gender of his prey, he would have two carcasses stuffed and mounted in coitus.
Something about his head being straight?
At any rate, he had only one cougar, stuffed and mounted, and proudly swirled Chivas while he told the story of its taking.
"Bob" was at work in Northern California. He owns his own business with offices in three states: Oregon, California, and Alaska. One day, he gets a call at the Cali office from some friends. He ought to come up; they got a big cat for him.
So Bob calls his travel agent, books the next ticket to Alaska, makes arrangements to ship his gear, and flies off. The next day his gear arrives, and he drives a good clip out to where his friends are hunting. The next day he hikes out to the campsite, and his friends take him the mile to the hunting ground. There, a pack of hunting dogs have kept a cougar in a tree since before Bob was called.
Bob takes out his rifle, shoots the cougar, and asks his friends to haul it out, have it "taken care of", and have it shipped to him.
Then he leaves, hikes back to the car, drives back to town, and flies back to Cali, shipping his gear straight to Oregon, and when he arrives home from California a week and a half later after finishing up his business, the cougar is in the hands of a local taxidermist, preparing it for mounting.
Contrast this with my girlfriend's uncle, who resigned from his job with a state fish & game board after he discovered that his latest legal hunting kill took place some
fifty feet too close to a road. Even his constituents were puzzled.
Of course, at the time I lived in Oregon, we were arguing over ways to trap large cats and bears. I've noticed that hunters generally prefer to hunt animals when they're standing still. On the one hand, it's a hunter's right to hunt bear and large cats (or so they say), but I've never known someone who took down a bear that did so when the bear wasn't already mutilated by a trap. Come on, let's see some courage among those hunters.
thanx,
Tiassa