Obviously, a new hunting season has just commenced. How do I know? Because I have to deal with a dog trying to climb furniture, break into a wall or at least perch on my pillow, or even better, head.
There is not much I truly despise, but people who consciously hurt or damage other living beings solely for their pleasure is high on the list.
I have never known any hunter if I don’t count a despicable man who was a policeman but used his job to smuggle hunting ammunition into the country, and terrorised his family and dogs. I never lived in the country before either. But now I’m here and there are shots outside my window.
I understand that the shots I get to hear are nothing in comparison. They are not meant for me, after all, neither for my bestia even though he doesn’t buy my attempts at explaining it to him as he is desperately trying to climb my night stand, knocking down glasses, books, stones and nail polish.
I understand that nowadays people all over the world are increasingly awoken to other kinds of shots, even in the countries with no war, such as Georgia. (And I don’t mean Gruzija.)
And yet they are out there, using the first day allowed to do what? Down a boar? A bunny? A bambi? Probably they waited all summer for this first legal day. I’ve seen them around, prancing about in their hunter gear all day long, with their dogs, in their dirty jeeps. They are hunters just like their fathers were, and grandfathers before them, and boar is the enemy.
If you dare into the woods around here, all you find in the undergrowth is what their rifles leave behind. The only time I saw a boar, it (she?) was chased by an exciting overweight hunter who was running with his dogs behind it towards the beach. So much for romantic sunset beach strolls.
And this is how a boar celebrates the end of hunting season on the island of Elba, not so far from here.
End of January, five months to go then. (Not my video.)
I’ve always hated September 1st, but for another reason. In Slovenia this day is when school starts. (In the USA it starts so early in comparison, whereas in Italy it’s September 15th!)
Now I have another reason to hate it.
It’s hunting wabbits either way.
Photo: a © signature mmm production
The Mexi Movie II. (closed) 
Hunting for pleasure as opposed to hunting for food is hard to understand. But people are hard to understand anyway. Life is crazy.
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That’s for sure… Thank you for coming over. 🙂
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I loved the video of the boar playing in the surf. Too cute 🙂
I’m not a fan of sport hunting either …especially if it involves chasing down a frightened animal with a pack of dogs, or worse, all terrain vehicles. Real sport in that! 😦
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Thank you, Joanne. Really, they should just hunt each other. Oh wait, they do that too, and call it war. 😦
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Ugh. That’s a good point 😦
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I’ve got nothing against hunting for food, but hunting as sport has always seemed cruel. Of course, my dog hunts for sport, and despite our many talks, she cannot resist chasing the critters and then shaking them to death, supposedly on my behalf. She must think I am a terrible hunter, luring the squirrels and bunnies to our yard and then merely watching them.
Sorry about the shots. Having lived on a military installation, I know even benign ammunition is nerve-wracking.
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Ohh, Joey, your comment was in spam, I’ve just rescued it from there!! 😮 You did something to WP gods! Your dog kills stuff?? 😮 😮 I know the feeling, but bestia just barks on our behalf. I don’t know what I’d do if he killed anything. And military shots are a whole other thing, of course.
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I’m not a fan of sport hunting but, to each his own, I guess. Fortunately we don’t live close enough to legal hunting grounds to hear the shots. We just have to put up with idiots who enjoy setting off illegal fireworks in a neighborhood where the houses are too close together for that to be safe.
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Oh yes, Dan, fireworks have the same effect, that’s why we dread New Year’s Eve. Imagine if every golf ball killed some little creature somewhere, in my view it’s a bit like that.
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I’m not a fan of hunting for sport, but, know first hand what hunting for food is like. Those rapports of shells meant dinner for a month or not.
There was a time in my life when hunting and fishing meant having meat on the table. The trophies were wallets, slippers, and table toppers.
The rest was eaten and buried to help the soil grow rich.
It also meant dropping my Dad off in the forest in the middle of the night …not knowing if he’d come back whole or at all.
Before we all started school we would go hunting with him and feel safe being together, but once school started Mom wouldn’t go with him so, Dad was alone hunting. It was a very scary time. Shit happens in the forest.
Mom and Dad would schedule a date and time to meet on the road where we dropped him off…we prayed everyday he would be there healthy with a deer and many rabbits.
Thankfully in my lifetime he was always there with a deer…not always rabbits too, but he was there!
When my Dad left the military and joined the workforce life changed for our family. My mom worked full time too and we moved up in class. Hunting for food is a memory now. My children don’t know that hunger; thank God!
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Thank you for sharing your experience, Deborah. I know fishing for food and this sounds similar, just on a larger scale. If I was a mermaid I bet fish-shooting would upset me in a similar way. One thing is if you need the meat to help you survive, and another if you treat the animals as an enemy that needs to be won over and put down. Not that people don’t do it to other people as well. Also, one thing is thick forest (where ‘shit happens’ as you say), and quite another seaside farmland with macchia bushes, tourists, and last but not least, a WWF nature reserve.
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