and it's time to go hunting

Growing up in the urban mecca of Los Angeles, I never really got the whole hunting thing. Sure, it seemed to make some sense if you were dressed as a Pilgrim or slogging through a nineteenth century South Dakota winter on the prairie before the advent of electricity and supermarkets, but why anyone in the modern era would look at a beautiful brown-eyed deer and want to blow it’s brains out just never made sense to me. I’d heard all the reasons why it was necessary or even humane…but somehow my limited citified mind was just never able to connect the dots.

I’d been told about the need to manage animal populations, prevent starvation or the value in thinning out herds to promote longevity, but somehow I just wasn’t buying it. I could never speak much deer, but somehow I always sensed if given the opportunity to pose the question to an eight-point Buck on the option between going without some quality grazing or a having a .308 long-grain ripping through their ribcage…the deer would respond with something like “let me take my chances finding some food before you thin me out.”

I guess the urge to look at an animal and think “God that’s beautiful…I’d really like to blow it off the face of the earth” makes some sense to me…but I always thought it was something we as humans should try to suppress. It’s kind of like the urge take naked pictures of yourself and text them…or to hold up banks or watch NASCAR. In my own life, I routinely feel the desire to actually knock out real people quite frequently…but somehow I reason the world is somehow a better place if I don’t follow through on that temptation. I also fear they might succeed in clobbering me instead…which would actually seem more sporting than any option the defenseless deer typically have.

I remember driving back from supper one evening in Minnesota with my then 90-year old grandpa. We came across the Red River through the heart of Fort Abercrombie, North Dakota just inside the Minnesota boarder. As we crossed the state line and curved across the river on the picturesque ribbon of highway that winds right through the middle of the old fort, there was a herd of deers (if you speak Minnesotan you know they sometimes say deers instead of deer) standing by the northeastern blockhouse down by the river. My grandpa suggested we pull over…and we sat there in the car for a few minutes just watching them feed against the setting sun. At some point my grandpa, a lifelong Depression era farmer, Roosevelt Democrat) and no virgin to barely scrapping by, said in a thick Swedish accent something like “aren’t they beautiful…I just never understood why anybody would want to shoot one if they didn’t have to.” For some reason, perhaps because I’m just a sissy city boy…that always just resonated with me. I acknowledge if I’d grown up in the country it would be different, but as a product of urban life I really just never really understood it all. That feeling pretty much stayed with me…until I moved to the District of Columbia. Now…I think it should be open season year round. Not on deer though…but on unruly and inconsiderate environmental rush-hour bicyclists.

When I think about the people that make up this selfish group of peddle-happy wasted flesh, all the rationale used to justify killing defenseless animals suddenly becomes crystal clear. Those of us forced to slog up 16^th street while some self-centered jackass peddles two miles an hour up the hill blocking an entire lane of commuters should be able to line them up with the hood ornament and step on the accelerator. Over time, people could develop some genuine cyclist hunting prowess…and would be able to knock self-centered riders up on the parkway or sidewalk completely out of the traffic with little or no disruption to traffic. Car commuters (now well-rested after arriving home on time the previous evening) could stand around the water cooler the next morning boasting of their successful hunts. Hey Bob, I bagged a nice red-helmeted 3-speed list night” or “Bubba, I nailed a blue-helmeted 10 –speed from 30 yards at 40mph. I was home in 20 minutes.”

Much like the hunting of animals…there could be a really, really humane component to this too. If at some point, people started noticing the consequence of this practice was somehow endangering the total number of selfish morons that take pleasure in screwing up the nightly commute for the rest of the city by peddling in the middle of a lane of a major artery at 2mph shouting “I’m superior to everyone behind me,” we could manage the hunts by rationing out tags to commuters that would only entitle them to taking out a limited number of bike riders per month. If, cyclists chose to use a bike lane or ride on the right side by the curb so cars could pass on their left (as I was taught to do when I was about 4 years old), they could be off limits. Hunting cyclists would be a good family and memory building exercise too as frustrated drivers could pass on the skill to children riding along in the car after a long day at school or daycare.

I know what you’re thinking…and yes…it’s true…I come up with some very good ideas. As a matter of fact, I’m going to head into the office now and see if I can’t bag a fit lycra-suited 15-speeder on Mass avenue. Seems to me it would make a great mount for the wall in the family room.

The election is over so have a wonderful weekend and try to take some time to chill and have some fun. You may even want to go for a bike ride, hunt some deer, or even cheer Brad Keleslowski's #2 Miller Lite car onto victory in the final NASCAR cup race at Homestead, Fl (or so I've heard).  Whatever your pleasure, try to relax and do something just for you. You can start it off just right with some nice music. Sorry for all the typos, poor grammar, lousy writing and misspellings.

 

I'd rather have a dollar than a dime...