“Post something,” he said. “Entertain me, despite your lack of inspiration.”
Fine…
I went hunting with my husband and Ronnie, our neighbor. This was last Saturday at the dim–yet nevertheless early–hour of 7 a.m. Since I am turning green in the environmental sense, I didn’t know if I could withstand the pressure. Even though I knew I wouldn’t be pulling any triggers, I still wasn’t sure if I would be okay with killing an animal for sport [Ronnie was on a quest for a 5 point buck]. Ethics and morals, and what-not.
I was surprised once we started the hunt, though–I’d always figured the definition of hunting included actually finding, cornering, and eventually killing something alive. We had no trouble finding things alive, but the cornering and killing aspect of the hunt didn’t go so well. We saw many animals. {Evidently Ronnie is a bit picky when it comes to the heads he’ll hang on his walls. Go figure.} We even chased one down, but the clever buck eluded us in spite of our efforts–they say that big bucks are big for a reason: they were too smart to get themselves hunted and killed last season.
Here was our prey:
Ronnie hunted.
Kyle spotted.
Kyle hunted.
My bed head and I tried to look interested and enthused.
“It’s a good thing we aren’t pioneers traveling the Oregon Trail and don’t actually need these animals to sustain us,” I said, “or we’d be goners.”
I was more keen on watching the beauty of Alberta.
Nobody shot this little lamb. Nobody even tried. Thank goodness.
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