I've loved to hunt pheasants since I was a teenager. I honestly can't think of anything I'd rather do than sneak up on and execute a clean kill on a ringneck.
I have a hygienist who is a very loving, kind, softhearted animal lover who has recently befriended a wild dog that she found living in a local park. Read the following link.
http://www.journalstar.com/articles/2006/11/12/local/doc45565fbdc12a9484524172.txt What is really interesting is that this dog-- that's she invested so much energy and time and emotion in--has taken to killing her pet birds when she's away. Twice she's come into the office in tears because, as she puts it, "My dog accidentally killed my bird".
Now trust me, the semi-wild dog that she brought home isn't doing anything by "accident". It's killing the birds because it is genetically and evolutionarily programmed to do so. Does it make this dog morally bankrupt to kill her birds? It doesn't need to kill them to eat. It has ample food in it's bowl every day. It kills the birds because
that's what it does.
I'm the same as that dog. I don't have to kill. I can choose not to, which I often do. I can even take thousands of my own hard earned dollars and create habitat on my farm which has turned it from a wasteland into a haven for dozens of deer, which I have. But I'm still hardwired to kill.
Many can claim that they are better than me because they don't kill, or that they've denied, hidden or absorbed this hardwiring. That's fine with me. But I yam what I yam, and I'll always be that way.
Now back to my love for pheasant hunting. The last five weeks I've been spreading a little corn that I got from Tractor Supply Company on a bare patch near a food plot that I started this year. This big ol' wrangly ringneck has been spending an hour or two each day munching on that corn. Yesterday I threw a shotgun on my shoulder and walked up to that barespot. That ringneck never saw me comin' and he busted up about eight feet in front of me. I dropped the gun on him---and by golly instead of shooting I just lipped the words "bang-bang" and let him go.
I've taken ownership in this bird. I like him, and in a way I love him. I couldn't bare to kill him, or worse yet break his leg and watch him fly off with a dangler. It was one of the greatest moments of my life and I don't really know precisely why. I just know it felt good. If I'm lucky and God smiles on me again I'll watch him fly off a few more times this winter.
Go figure.
