My wife and I have an acquaintance from Boston we’re unfortunately forced to interface with on an irregular basis who continuously gives me and my family hell about hunting.
Yep, she’s a greenie animal worshipper who thinks a rat is a pig is a dog is a boy. She hates those who hunt animals, but she eats beef, pork, chicken, fish and demands leather interior for her gas guzzling SUVs and, of course, for her wardrobe accessories. Yeah, I know … go figure, right?
Because she cannot budge me an inch into her illogical anti-hunting land of insanity and inconsistencies with her irrational blather, she often lays into my youngest daughter, Regis (who is 19 years old), in person or via Twitter. This acquaintance is especially distressed when Regis posts a picture of an animal she’s just whacked, decrying what Regis did and pestering her to give an apologetic for why she puts the bam to Bambi.
As much as this obnoxious dame annoys me, I’m glad she does this to my huntress because it forces the young lass to sharpen her defense as to why hunters rock and the anti-hunters are a crock when it comes to our magical, necessary and delightful world of hunting.
One thing of note with this hunting naysayer is the utter disarray her personal offspring are in. It’s truly a sad state of affairs. All of them are on psychotropics for something. Two of them also medicate, how shall I say, with more organic, non-FDA approved herbs, as well. Additionally, this woman’s brood consists of some of the rudest humans I have ever met. Her kids have pretty much spent their entire childhoods and teenage years being completely ignored by their parents, shuffled off from sitter to sitter, placed in front of TVs, or given gadgets and crap to make up for the parental lack. It’s a message that’s pretty much consistent with the anti-hunters’ mantra—namely, save the animals and screw the humans.
For instance, American archeologists based in Tanzania have just recently discovered the ancient, yet pristine, remains of two caveman homes that were buried under volcanic ash from a Mount Kilimanjaro eruption three million years ago.
One family, comprised of a dad, whom the scientists have named Trog, a wife they’ve named Noota, a son they’re calling Grot and a daughter they call Boota, were a hunting family that perished in the volcano eruption but died with smiles on their faces and sported robust skeletal structures and had several nice fossilized spears and kudu skulls scattered about their lair.
The other cave dwellers the scientists found during this dig are believed to be a lesbian couple that they have named Tonda and Rosie. Interestingly, and in contrast to Trog’s family, the two female cavewomen were found frozen in time, frowning while drawing an angry pictograph against the Neanderthal Spear Hunting Association.
Archeologists also said they found what appears to be two adopted cave kids in that dwelling who looked bored out of their skulls and appeared to have perished in the eruption while climbing out of their cave and heading toward Trog’s dwelling. Scientists also said they found in Tonda and Rosie’s cave what appear to be softball jerseys hanging on stalagmites and no sign of any cool taxidermy work.
So, hunting families, let the blowhards condemn our pursuits. We know the true value hunting adds to global economies, to our sacred hunting lands, and to the real preservation of our earth’s magnificent resources and, most importantly, how it anchors and bonds those families and friends involved on a primal, if not sacred, level.
Sorry but I’ve got to cut this column short because I’m busy planning a bear hunt with my kid in Alaska with four Purple Heart recipients in some of the most God-blessed turf this planet has to offer.
For more fodder on hunting with your family, buy Doug's book, Raising Righteous and Rowdy Girls.