Hunting season is in the air and it seems there's no shortage of enthusiasm for it. Despite supporting such anti-hunting organizations as Defenders of Wildlife, Natural Resources Defense Council, National Wildlife Federation, Humane Society of the United States, and American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I actually don't oppose hunting.
Hunting is a necessary evil. Because humans like to kill off all the predators, many animal populations, especially those of the deer variety, have exploded, and so without hunting many more deer would starve, get hit by cars, die by disease, and end up where a deer shouldn't be, like in a convenience store. When we lived in Ithaca, NY, I often heard locals say that if you lived there long enough, you'd hit a deer. Fortunately that never came to pass, but we did see one get hit before our eyes and we came upon another one right after it'd been smashed by a minivan. The minivan drove off, but I got out of our car and pulled the deer's warm body from the road. Death by a hunter's bullet is far more humane and respectful.
Let me be perfectly clear: I do not hunt nor do I support all hunting. I oppose all "hunting" that involves 4x4 vehicles, GPS, private game parks, packs of dogs, baiting, the Internet or any other method or that device gives the human an undue advantage over the animal. I oppose bow hunting because of the suffering the animal endures as it often labors hundreds of yards before dying.
Hunting should be about the thrill of the hunt, not the thrill of the kill. People who feel the need to kill another animal are trying to compensate for their own inadequacies and probably shouldn't be allowed to own a gun. They are the idiots who drink to shoot, who "hunt" with sub-machine guns or handguns, who pay "guides" thousands of dollars to go to a ranch in Texas to shoot an animal that's native to Africa. They don't hunt; they kill. They are this woman.
A real hunter, as any moderate conservationist will tell you, cares about the land and the animals. They hunt to be outdoors, hoping to "bag" something but just as satisfied if they don't. They don't trespass and they don't exceed quotas. They respect the animal they hunt. They are old school, and I sense that there are fewer and fewer of them.
I don't buy into all the propaganda that's spewed to justify hunting. It is not a family event. BBQs, picnics, birthday parties, wedding, funerals, and holidays are family events; not tracking down and shooting dead an animal. Nor can you convince me that more than a handful of hunters are out there trying to feed their family. That's a sketchy way to get by and the family would be better off if someone just got a job. Hunting is no more a sport than poker or chess, and despite what the State of Georgia wants me to believe, hunting is not a God-given right.
Some day I'd like to don the bright orange of hunting season, carry a rifle and track down a deer or elk or even a bear. I'd raise the gun to my shoulder, set that animal in my sights, and pull the trigger. There wouldn't be any bullets in the gun, of course, because I don't have a hunting license (or a passport, now that I think about it) and I don't kill for sport. It's just not something I do.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
A Dog's Life
This weekend saw the passing of Otis, the canine companion to some friends of mine. I never met Otis, but I know how much he meant to them and one can't help but be heartbroken. He wasn't simply a pet, an animal, a legal piece of property; Otis was a companion of immense proportions. He was sincerely and deeply loved.
Unfortunately the same can't be said for Chico, our neighbor's dog. Chico is a big mutt with a booming bark. He's well-fed, has shelter from the heat and storms and he has a huge yard in which to run. But that's about all he has. Days pass before I see or hear him get any more human attention than what it takes to feed him and to tell him to be quiet. Our neighbors have three boys, and I'm convinced that when we got Boo, they, like children do, nagged and nagged until they, too, got a dog. For the first month or so, Chico went everywhere with those kids, even making visits to Boo. Chico got bigger, though, and lost that puppy appeal, and two years later, he lives alone in the backyard, 24/7. The boys don't play with him anymore and when guests come over he's tied to a tree with a 6 ft. lead, often for hours. Completely unsocialized, Chico is now a nuisance, barking at most every sound and charging the fence when I'm in our backyard.
I often marvel at how by sheer luck and through no effort of our own the quality of one's life can be vastly different than that of another. To simply be born in this country means your quality of life is manifestly greater than that of millions in other countries. The poorest American will have a better life than his equal in Nigeria or North Korea, not because he earned that better life but because he was lucky enough to have been born here. The lucky and the unlucky.
Otis was lucky, Chico is unlucky. Through no fault of his own, Chico is resigned to a solitary, loveless life. The kids say they are moving at the end of the month to a smaller house, and if that's true, I'm not sure what the future holds for Chico. He's not adoptable so if he goes to a shelter, he'll be euthanized. He'd make a good guard dog but the life of a guard dog is not much better than that he lives now. I fear he'll go to dog fighters. Untrained as he is, Chico would be a bait dog. Chico's fate appears uncertain, and I can't see it ending happily.
My brain understands why there are so many Chicos out there: culture, education, finances, the Bible, speciesism. My heart can't understand, though. All dogs, all companion animals, all animals, really, should live a life like Otis did, and if a person can't or is unwilling to provide that life, then they don't deserve such a companion.
I like to think that there are more dogs out in the world living a life like Otis did than there are those living Chico's life. It's estimated that Americans alone will spend nearly $47.7 billion this year on their animal companions and pet products is one of the few industries that actually grew during the recession. Clearly to many Americans our animal companions are family and are treated as such. It's just sad that's not the case for all of them.
Unfortunately the same can't be said for Chico, our neighbor's dog. Chico is a big mutt with a booming bark. He's well-fed, has shelter from the heat and storms and he has a huge yard in which to run. But that's about all he has. Days pass before I see or hear him get any more human attention than what it takes to feed him and to tell him to be quiet. Our neighbors have three boys, and I'm convinced that when we got Boo, they, like children do, nagged and nagged until they, too, got a dog. For the first month or so, Chico went everywhere with those kids, even making visits to Boo. Chico got bigger, though, and lost that puppy appeal, and two years later, he lives alone in the backyard, 24/7. The boys don't play with him anymore and when guests come over he's tied to a tree with a 6 ft. lead, often for hours. Completely unsocialized, Chico is now a nuisance, barking at most every sound and charging the fence when I'm in our backyard.
I often marvel at how by sheer luck and through no effort of our own the quality of one's life can be vastly different than that of another. To simply be born in this country means your quality of life is manifestly greater than that of millions in other countries. The poorest American will have a better life than his equal in Nigeria or North Korea, not because he earned that better life but because he was lucky enough to have been born here. The lucky and the unlucky.
Otis was lucky, Chico is unlucky. Through no fault of his own, Chico is resigned to a solitary, loveless life. The kids say they are moving at the end of the month to a smaller house, and if that's true, I'm not sure what the future holds for Chico. He's not adoptable so if he goes to a shelter, he'll be euthanized. He'd make a good guard dog but the life of a guard dog is not much better than that he lives now. I fear he'll go to dog fighters. Untrained as he is, Chico would be a bait dog. Chico's fate appears uncertain, and I can't see it ending happily.
My brain understands why there are so many Chicos out there: culture, education, finances, the Bible, speciesism. My heart can't understand, though. All dogs, all companion animals, all animals, really, should live a life like Otis did, and if a person can't or is unwilling to provide that life, then they don't deserve such a companion.
I like to think that there are more dogs out in the world living a life like Otis did than there are those living Chico's life. It's estimated that Americans alone will spend nearly $47.7 billion this year on their animal companions and pet products is one of the few industries that actually grew during the recession. Clearly to many Americans our animal companions are family and are treated as such. It's just sad that's not the case for all of them.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
It's a Date!
I noticed the following dates on my nifty National Wildlife Federation calendar:
9/9 is Rosh Hashanah
9/10 is Eid al-Fitr (end of Ramadan)
9/11 is Patriot Day
Interesting, don't you think? In a time of limited optimism (Middle East peace talks) and despair (rampant Islamaphobia) the stars have aligned themselves in such a way that we have a Jewish holiday followed by the end of an Islamic holy period followed by a day to remember those who died in "Christian land." It's too bad we can't schedule a day each year when all these religions could just get along, or "coexist" as the bumper sticker pleads. Maybe something like "Get Along Day" or even "Coexist Day," a day where every person of every faith just sets aside their beliefs and fists for 24 hours. One day out of 365 will not, I think, put your deity out too much.
I'm not so naive that I think all people will get along or that we even should get along all the time. Peace is always elusive, but we should try, we should always keep trying. The extremists, the people of hate, they don't want to try and they don't want you to try either. It's the extremists in Israel, Iran and the US that dominate the agenda. They get the press, the attention, and then the small-minded among us start to think like them, and before you know it you got kids growing up in households that don't want to accept that other people have lives and cultures as valid as their own. Those kids become the oppressor's or terrorists or TV/radio show hosts, and it all becomes one nasty cycle of intolerance and violence.
The chances of these three events happening 1-2-3 like this again are slim, so we should make the most of it and maybe for the next three days hope that no one burns a Quran or bombs a marketplace or demolishes homes with a tank. If you can't muster up the tolerance within yourself to do so, then do it for those we honor on Sept. 12, the Sunday following Rosh Hashanah, Eid al-Fitr, and Patriot Day: that'd be Grandparents Day.
9/9 is Rosh Hashanah
9/10 is Eid al-Fitr (end of Ramadan)
9/11 is Patriot Day
Interesting, don't you think? In a time of limited optimism (Middle East peace talks) and despair (rampant Islamaphobia) the stars have aligned themselves in such a way that we have a Jewish holiday followed by the end of an Islamic holy period followed by a day to remember those who died in "Christian land." It's too bad we can't schedule a day each year when all these religions could just get along, or "coexist" as the bumper sticker pleads. Maybe something like "Get Along Day" or even "Coexist Day," a day where every person of every faith just sets aside their beliefs and fists for 24 hours. One day out of 365 will not, I think, put your deity out too much.
I'm not so naive that I think all people will get along or that we even should get along all the time. Peace is always elusive, but we should try, we should always keep trying. The extremists, the people of hate, they don't want to try and they don't want you to try either. It's the extremists in Israel, Iran and the US that dominate the agenda. They get the press, the attention, and then the small-minded among us start to think like them, and before you know it you got kids growing up in households that don't want to accept that other people have lives and cultures as valid as their own. Those kids become the oppressor's or terrorists or TV/radio show hosts, and it all becomes one nasty cycle of intolerance and violence.
The chances of these three events happening 1-2-3 like this again are slim, so we should make the most of it and maybe for the next three days hope that no one burns a Quran or bombs a marketplace or demolishes homes with a tank. If you can't muster up the tolerance within yourself to do so, then do it for those we honor on Sept. 12, the Sunday following Rosh Hashanah, Eid al-Fitr, and Patriot Day: that'd be Grandparents Day.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Very Superstitious
I was really happy to see August go. It seemed extra long and hot this year; the mosquitoes and bugs were relentless; and Glenn Beck got way too much attention for someone who knows so little. I was also happy to finally be able to change the months on my calendar and see what animal graced September. The blood sea star staring up at me had lost its charm half way through August, and yet as much as I wanted to, I wouldn't look ahead to see what September had in store for me. See, I believe that looking ahead to the next month means that I assume that I'll make it to the next month, when, in fact, I might not. So, I choose not to tempt Fate and opt to bide my time until the first day of each month to change my calendar.
Harry from "When Harry Met Sally" chose to read the end of a book first so that he knew what would happen in the event he should die before finishing the book. That's certainly one approach I could take - check out all the months once I get the calendar - but I think that just gives Fate, God, Karma, Wakan Tanka, Zeus or whatever even more of reason to cut things short for me. I mean, if I know that December is a polar bear, then what's the point of actually letting me see December? I choose not to give them any more reason than they already have.
I do cheat sometimes by looking at the thumbnails on the back of the calendar; still, I don't know if the Black-Footed Ferret is May or October. I only know he'll appear at some point that year. Technicalities like that are important. So is the anticipation of waiting.
Otherwise, I'm not all that superstitious. I routinely walk under ladders, seek out black cats, and I don't understand the spilt salt thing. I don't break mirrors because they're expensive, especially now that I'm boycotting both Target and Wal-Mart (where's the principled consumer to shop?!). I only buy lottery Quick Picks. There's no lucky shirt in my wardrobe and I can't think of a single routine of mine that's conducted to specifically ward off bad luck or bring me good luck.
I do carry a rosary in my pocket whenever I leave the house, so maybe I'm more superstitious than I want to believe. Despite having never been confirmed or accepted the authority of the Church or even taken the time to learn what all those beads mean, it doesn't make sense for me to carry a rosary...but I do...religiously. Seems harmless enough and no rabbits had to part with their hind feet for my peace of mind. I like rabbits; I wonder if there's one in my calendar.
September is a keel-billed toucan.
Harry from "When Harry Met Sally" chose to read the end of a book first so that he knew what would happen in the event he should die before finishing the book. That's certainly one approach I could take - check out all the months once I get the calendar - but I think that just gives Fate, God, Karma, Wakan Tanka, Zeus or whatever even more of reason to cut things short for me. I mean, if I know that December is a polar bear, then what's the point of actually letting me see December? I choose not to give them any more reason than they already have.
I do cheat sometimes by looking at the thumbnails on the back of the calendar; still, I don't know if the Black-Footed Ferret is May or October. I only know he'll appear at some point that year. Technicalities like that are important. So is the anticipation of waiting.
Otherwise, I'm not all that superstitious. I routinely walk under ladders, seek out black cats, and I don't understand the spilt salt thing. I don't break mirrors because they're expensive, especially now that I'm boycotting both Target and Wal-Mart (where's the principled consumer to shop?!). I only buy lottery Quick Picks. There's no lucky shirt in my wardrobe and I can't think of a single routine of mine that's conducted to specifically ward off bad luck or bring me good luck.
I do carry a rosary in my pocket whenever I leave the house, so maybe I'm more superstitious than I want to believe. Despite having never been confirmed or accepted the authority of the Church or even taken the time to learn what all those beads mean, it doesn't make sense for me to carry a rosary...but I do...religiously. Seems harmless enough and no rabbits had to part with their hind feet for my peace of mind. I like rabbits; I wonder if there's one in my calendar.
September is a keel-billed toucan.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
A Few Books That Mattered
After reading about the resurging popularity of Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, I got to wondering about books that influenced my life. I'm not just talking good reads here; there are too many for that. I'm talking books that impacted the way I thought about the world and/or how I lived my life. As good reads go, To Kill a Mockingbird is probably my favorite; still, it didn't profoundly influence or impact me one way or the other. These books did:
Atlas Shrugged
I didn't really know what this book was about when I started it; I just wanted to know who John Galt was. Now I know, and even though I haven't finished it yet (700-some pages down, only 300-400 more to go), I don't think I'll be able to look at our society quite the same again.
Cadillac Desert
This book altered how I thought about the availability of water and the existence of cities in the Southwest and southern California. I once told Ida that Las Vegas was "against everything I stood for," and it still is, thanks, in part, to this book.
God's Dog: A Celebration of the North American Coyote
The photo of a dead coyote pup burned out of the den has haunted me since I read this book as a teenager.
Monkey Wrench Gang
A band of eco-warriors fighting to save the desert. Today they are called eco-terrorists, and I still support them. A spiked tree is a living tree.
Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH
Anyone not read this in elementary school? This fictional tale of rats escaping from a life of certain death for the sake of human science was the foundation for my life-long support for ending animal experimentation.
On the Road
In the fall of 1991, I randomly picked On the Road from my roommate's shelf, laid back in a hammock, and embarked on an amazing adventure, both in the novel and in real life. Dharma Bums, Big Sur, and The Subterraneans followed, but by the time I started Desolation Angels, I'd moved past that life. But what a life it had been!
The Razor's Edge
Larry turned his back on the material and found happiness and inner peace. Only Thoreau's dictate to "Simplify! Simplify! Simplify!" has had a stronger influence on my life.
The Religions of Man
If more people took time to learn something - ANYTHING - about other religions they might actually see that the similarities out-number the differences.
Robert Kennedy and His Times
RFK had his flaws, but more than any politician before or since, he tried to do the right thing, not the expedient or political or prudent thing, but the right thing. I try hard to do the right thing, but I also know that the right thing to do is not always the best thing to do. Still, I try.
They Marched Into Sunlight
Changed how I imagined war, the soldiers who fight it, and what it really means to protest.
Honorable Mention:
Steppenwolf
Absalom! Absalom!
Fast Food Nation
Atlas Shrugged
I didn't really know what this book was about when I started it; I just wanted to know who John Galt was. Now I know, and even though I haven't finished it yet (700-some pages down, only 300-400 more to go), I don't think I'll be able to look at our society quite the same again.
Cadillac Desert
This book altered how I thought about the availability of water and the existence of cities in the Southwest and southern California. I once told Ida that Las Vegas was "against everything I stood for," and it still is, thanks, in part, to this book.
God's Dog: A Celebration of the North American Coyote
The photo of a dead coyote pup burned out of the den has haunted me since I read this book as a teenager.
Monkey Wrench Gang
A band of eco-warriors fighting to save the desert. Today they are called eco-terrorists, and I still support them. A spiked tree is a living tree.
Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH
Anyone not read this in elementary school? This fictional tale of rats escaping from a life of certain death for the sake of human science was the foundation for my life-long support for ending animal experimentation.
On the Road
In the fall of 1991, I randomly picked On the Road from my roommate's shelf, laid back in a hammock, and embarked on an amazing adventure, both in the novel and in real life. Dharma Bums, Big Sur, and The Subterraneans followed, but by the time I started Desolation Angels, I'd moved past that life. But what a life it had been!
The Razor's Edge
Larry turned his back on the material and found happiness and inner peace. Only Thoreau's dictate to "Simplify! Simplify! Simplify!" has had a stronger influence on my life.
The Religions of Man
If more people took time to learn something - ANYTHING - about other religions they might actually see that the similarities out-number the differences.
Robert Kennedy and His Times
RFK had his flaws, but more than any politician before or since, he tried to do the right thing, not the expedient or political or prudent thing, but the right thing. I try hard to do the right thing, but I also know that the right thing to do is not always the best thing to do. Still, I try.
They Marched Into Sunlight
Changed how I imagined war, the soldiers who fight it, and what it really means to protest.
Honorable Mention:
Steppenwolf
Absalom! Absalom!
Fast Food Nation
Friday, August 6, 2010
Turning Over a New Leaf
There are a lot of things in this world that make me angry. For brevity's sake, let me just group them into very broad categories: inconveniences, disrespect, and idiocy. Pretty much all that makes my blood boil can be assigned under one of those categories, and it seems not a day goes by when I don't find myself mentally -and sometimes verbally- railing against my fellow man. It's true that I'm well on my way to being a grumpy old man. I'm okay with that, though, being old and grumpy, and I look forward to the day when some punk kid calls me the same while I hurl profanities at him for not picking up where his dog left off on my lawn.
It has come to my attention, however, that I am not quite old yet, chronologically or mentally. In fact, I'm quite a young 41, and if it weren't for my graying and balding and bad back most folks would take me for, oh, 39 or 40. I do have a bad attitude for only being 41, though. Over the years I've let those things that make me angry make me angrier and more bitter and, well, I'm really too young to be chasing kids off my lawn, shaking my fist at people texting while driving, reporting covenant violations or watching FOX News (in truth, I've only done one of those - can you guess which one?!).
It's time I try and re-focus my attention to those things in life that are life-affirming, like knowing that for every dirtbag that tries to kill his dog with a hammer, there are many people who would like to do the same to him if given the chance; that for every parent that abuses their child, there are thousands of social workers trying against huge odds to give kids a better life; that for every jacka** who thinks herself too important to get in line like everybody else, there are little kids shhhhing people in movie theaters; that for every U.S. citizen who is too lazy to vote, there are people in this world who risk losing life and limb in order to have a voice; for all the religious bigots spreading hate and fear, there are people of deep faith and kindness reaching out; for every ignorant Glenn Beck there's an intelligent Jon Stewart somewhere; and for every 40-something who has just about lost faith in humanity, there's someone else out there who hasn't. Man, I hate that last group of people...but I think I'll try and be more like them.
It has come to my attention, however, that I am not quite old yet, chronologically or mentally. In fact, I'm quite a young 41, and if it weren't for my graying and balding and bad back most folks would take me for, oh, 39 or 40. I do have a bad attitude for only being 41, though. Over the years I've let those things that make me angry make me angrier and more bitter and, well, I'm really too young to be chasing kids off my lawn, shaking my fist at people texting while driving, reporting covenant violations or watching FOX News (in truth, I've only done one of those - can you guess which one?!).
It's time I try and re-focus my attention to those things in life that are life-affirming, like knowing that for every dirtbag that tries to kill his dog with a hammer, there are many people who would like to do the same to him if given the chance; that for every parent that abuses their child, there are thousands of social workers trying against huge odds to give kids a better life; that for every jacka** who thinks herself too important to get in line like everybody else, there are little kids shhhhing people in movie theaters; that for every U.S. citizen who is too lazy to vote, there are people in this world who risk losing life and limb in order to have a voice; for all the religious bigots spreading hate and fear, there are people of deep faith and kindness reaching out; for every ignorant Glenn Beck there's an intelligent Jon Stewart somewhere; and for every 40-something who has just about lost faith in humanity, there's someone else out there who hasn't. Man, I hate that last group of people...but I think I'll try and be more like them.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Greatest
There's no Triple Crown chance this year, and so the Belmont Stakes will be just a blip, if that, on most people's radar. I love horse racing simply because watching horses run, whether it's around a track or on the plains, is quite simply one of the most moving of experiences. Grace, muscle, power, poetry, natural beauty. It can move me to tears.
Lest you forget: Secretariat won the Triple Crown in 1973, and it was his performance at the Belmont that cemented his claim as the greatest thoroughbred to run a race (some consider Man-O-War the greatest). If you've never seen that race, you can watch it here. And to put that horse and that race into context, I also recommend watching Part II of ESPN Classic's tribute to Secretariat.
"Secretariat is widening now! He's moving like a tremendous machine!"
Sends chills down my spine.
Lest you forget: Secretariat won the Triple Crown in 1973, and it was his performance at the Belmont that cemented his claim as the greatest thoroughbred to run a race (some consider Man-O-War the greatest). If you've never seen that race, you can watch it here. And to put that horse and that race into context, I also recommend watching Part II of ESPN Classic's tribute to Secretariat.
"Secretariat is widening now! He's moving like a tremendous machine!"
Sends chills down my spine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)