“If some animals are good at hunting and others are suitable for hunting, then the Gods must clearly smile on hunting.” - Aristotle
Last week the animal right activists went into full doofus mode when the happy huntress, Melissa Bachman, posted pics on Facebook and Twitter of a lion she shot on her recent safari to South Africa.
Being the most unhinged bipeds sucking air right now on God’s green earth, the anti-hunting lunatics, in a full-on hissy fit, demanded that Bachman be banned from South Africa for legally hunting a lion and stimulating their needy economy. In addition, they called her the vilest of names that sailors on leave in Borneo don’t even use and, ironically, some called for her to be hunted and killed.
Progressives are so cute. They’re so totally cool with you doing whatever you want to do as long as it is something they’ve mandated.
Typical was the caterwauling. They called Miss Melissa an evil trophy hunter. Queried why was she smiling in the hunting photos. Declared, contrary to reality, that “lions are endangered.” Announced to the planet “hunting is cruel” and complained about the hunt being “a canned hunt.” And then, I think, they launched into a chorus of “Hakuna Matata” from the Lion King movie.
First off, trophy hunting, in the truest sense of the word, takes off the field the toothless old codgers of the animal kingdom that have been kicked out of the pride, pack or herd and are past their breeding prime, and are a few weeks or months away from being shredded to death by other predators when they go for an afternoon drink at the local watering hole.
Which brings me to the “hunting is cruel” blather the anti-hunters spew with more predictably than a Nancy Pelosi bowel movement. If you want to see “cruel” turn on Nat Geo and watch the animal kingdom take care of business. Holy crap, that’s as raw as it gets. Nothing quite like watching an assemblage of sweet little Simba’s eat the butt off a buffalo while it’s still alive. If I were an animal, I’d take a 300-grain Swift A-frame screaming out of the pipe of a .375H&H at 2400-feet-per-second any old day versus being on the receiving end of “the delicate balance of nature. “