My boyfriend likes to kill things. I don't have those genes. I like watching violent movies. I like trying to throw people around, wrestling, punching, ect. I like shooting my longbow. At a target.
He wants me to come hunting with him. I wouldn't have to kill anything, he says.
Can I kill you for suggesting it? I wonder.
I grew up next to a park, protected trees that surrounded me and comforted me and shielded me when I wanted to be shielded. They're what spark my imagination, housed my daydreams and held my tears. I never needed to talk in the forest, which made me instantly at home. There was the possiblity of danger- hunters. My parents didn't like me going out on my own or with a small dog, because what if someone kidnapped me? One day when I was out with my terrier I met 4 guys with guns. It was one of those, "Um, hi," moments when I really, really wanted to run from them.
Hunters scared me.
I hated hunters.
I HATE hunters.
I heard guns go off in the distant and winced. I hoped they'd miss.
Why kill something? What's the pleasure in taking life?
Michael (boyfriend) says that's what God put them on the earth for.
I said, oh. What about Fido? You gonna shoot your dog for meat?
No, he says.
That's right, because dogs give us pleasure just by BEING there. Well, wildlife gives me pleasure just by being there. I saw deer scramble away from me in the woods and frowned. I wonder if they'd be afraid if we didn't kill them, get in the way of their migration and lands then curse them for running into the highways?
I saw a baby deer gaze at me and I saw it in her eyes- do I need to fear you? Are you going to hurt me?
Now every time I watch rabbits and squirrels outside my apartment I smile at their antics. Sandpipers in Hawaii fascinted me, skipping around. Monk seals bask in the sun and don't fear humans because they are protected. Same with sea turtles. Crabs don't fear anyone. But they do like to snap at flip-flops.
I don't eat seafood. It taste like the ocean or a pond to me. I like meat, but I can go weeks without it and not miss it. And then I like my animals pumped full of hormones and bred to eat. I wish they'd kill them more humanely, but oh well, at least I don't have to see the life go out of their eyes.
Maybe that's it. I fear what taking a life would mean. I view those animals as I would my own pets.
I remember our Beagle, Cleo, on her last days at our house. I looked into her eyes and I said please don't leave me. She said calmly that she had to, but she'd miss us. I've held puppies as they died. Came into the dogshed as one succumbed to a painful death, listened to his last howls became my pained, frustrated tears. Watched as the one I fed for 4 weeks couldn't breath, lungs too small. I rescued countless birds that flew into the windows and got dazed. I put them in branches so the cats couldn't nibble on them. I remember holding a cardinal and setting in a tree only to have its head loll to the side, neck broken. It was still warm in my hands. Not wanting to have it be eaten, as nature demanded, I buried it in Mom's flower garden under a stone.
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