“Proud To Be A Wild Life Slaughterer”

It says a lot about you – what you stick on your car bumper. When I see your pick-up truck with the sign, “I’m a Bowhunter” it tells me a little of the sort of person you are. When the sign is followed by a sticker saying:

“Ditch The Bitch – Let’s Go Deer Hunting”

it says a lot more. It tells me you are self-centered, arrogant and uncaring, both of the world around you and the other species that share this planet with us – except, of course, while in the pursuit of your ego-boosting, barbaric, hobby.

It also tells me you have a derogatory attitude towards the female sex, and consider them worthless creatures created for your convenience – much like the deer you love to slaughter.

It tells me you don’t think for yourself but instead take the easy road, and follow a pattern of life much encouraged by those for whom you choose to vote.

That you are so very keen to display your irresponsibility and ill-mannered aggression to the outside world, bothers me far more than the publishing of ridiculous cartoons of Mohammed, or the Pope, or Jesus Christ.

It tells me you’re proud of your brutishness; that you enjoy strutting it around like some farmyard cock, first in line for the henhouse.

And proud you are. The final sticker – underneath all the others – displays that fact, too:

“Proud To Be An American.”

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4 Replies to ““Proud To Be A Wild Life Slaughterer””

  1. Mr. Adams, in the early days of my long-gone marriage, my ex-hub and I joined friends of his on what was my first real camping trip — no hunting involved, since I declined even to consider hanging out with anyone who hunted. We spent much of the time in Wyoming and Montana.

    As we were on the road home in our little blue VW bug, we paused for gas in Montana. A truck fitted with cabin gun-racks pulled in with a slain buck roped to the front bumper. The truck had Arizona license plates. Someone had driven thousands of miles, past any number of supermarkets well-stocked with meat, for the joy of slaughtering an unoffending beast on its own turf.

    I snapped. My ex-hub later told me I had head-butted the driver of the truck when he stepped out of the vehicle, and God knows my neck suggested I had encountered a brick wall unawares. I have no recollection of doing it and more or less came to myself dangling mid-air in my ex-hub’s bear-hug as he moved backward toward our VW. The two men from the truck were cursing but not making any violent moves on me (I’m sure I appeared a lunatic gnat to them), my ex-hub was laughing so hard we were in danger of falling over. I was dumped into the VW and we sped away. When our camping friends caught up to us at the agreed roadside cafe for lunch and heard the story, they told my ex-hub “it’s the booky-looking ones you have to watch out for”.

    I’m NOT in favor of violent reactions like my own,and I don’t recall it with pride. But I continue to be appalled that people travel miles to kill animals “for sport”. My friend, poet John Haines, on the other hand, lived in Alaska for years — he hunted for food, and his wife learned to make slippers and vests from hides. That I can brook. Bubbas with bumper stickers and dead deer — well, that’s another matter.

    That was the only dead deer I ever saw. I’m grateful for that. It’s a heartbreaking spectacle.

  2. Xristi – in my own country, tough laws make it difficult to hunt anything bigger than a rabbit, or maybe a fox; such are the quarry of farmers. Other, larger wild animals are protected by law from the outrage of wanton slaughter. Of course, the wealthy landowners (many of them, politicians) have their own ways to circumvent legality, and stag hunting is still practised in the remoter areas of Britain. Thankfully, hunting with hounds has now been outlawed, after decades of relentless demand for change from animal welfare groups. That, too, was principally the domain of the rich and snooty. I hear they are finding ways to circumvent that law as well. I will never forget the first time I walked into a Walmart here in Illinois and saw a selection of hunting rifles on open display. To me, it was an appalling sight, and one illegal back in Britain. The attitude of many Americans, including – but much less restricted to – the rich and snooty, towards this so-called “sport” has disgusted me from the moment I set foot on American soil. Illinois has more than its fair shair of these people, most of whom have never had a lesson in using a gun and are a menace to hikers and walkers from November onwards, when the “season” opens. Your friend from Alaska hunts for sustenance, not sport, as man has done for millions of years; as have other animals. I have no argument with that. My distaste is for the “kill for fun” brigade, who use the laws of this land purely for the selfish pleasure and sense of power they get from their trigger fingers.

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