I was in my childhood 'neck of the woods' this morning as the opening day of deer hunting season began. This was gun season, as opposed to bow season which, I believe, has come and gone. I'm not here to discuss the pros and cons of animal hunting. Heaven knows there are those individuals who are passionately for and against it. Wild game hunting is a controversial subject, depending on the part of the country you travel through.
This morning, as we motored through a two-hundred-or-so mile stretch of relatively rural landscape, we saw a few instances of deer on the move, on alert and trying desperately to evade the rifle shots that we heard every time we stopped for a break. You simply could not escape the sound, which I found oddly disturbing and discomforting. Each time I would alight from the car and would move toward a building with the sound of gunfire in the background, I found myself hoping that the hunters were firing accurately and a wild shot would not fell some unsuspecting person.
When I was a teen, I hunted with my father because it was expected of me. Wild game hunting was and is widely accepted in the area that I grew up in. As soon as I was old enough, I was enrolled in a gun club where we learned to handle, clean, sight, and shoot rifles. I deer-hunted for several seasons with my dad. My memory fades as to why I stopped hunting with dad. It probably had something to do with school activities, both during the week and on the weekends. I was raised eating wild game and still enjoy any and all wild meat, but........
Today, seeing the frightened animals fleeing for their lives somehow took the thrill out of thinking about eating venison. This is an internal conflict that I am going to have to examine, consider, and ponder.
I sign off tonight with personal, thought-provoking introspection.
Ancora imparo
