Jane Goodall on trophy hunting...
 

Jane Goodall Asks Tough Questions about Cecil The Lion

Trophy hunters, in fact anybody who isn't hunting to eat what they're hunting, are sick motherfuckers.

Dunno about sick, but different. There is an instinctive pleasure in the kill, experienced by some, and some seem addicted to it.

When I was a kid I killed bugs a lot. But I grew out of it.

A friend and I decimated the frog population around his family's boat dock on the lake one preadolescent summer with a pellet gun. We grew out of it as well.

Immature is a plain language equivalent for personality disorsee. Trophy hunting is close to as sick as it gets in my humble clinical opinion.

I beat a rat to death with a canoe paddle once. I had a .22 target pistol at the time but I didn't want to put holes in the walls.

I had to chase him all over the house before I finally got him cornered.

Believe me, those fuckers can fly. He went over the back of the couch like an Olympic High hurdler.

I think the fucker got into the house thru the dryer vent. There was a little space around it and I've heard that a good sized rat can squeeze through a hole the size of a quarter with no problem.

Jane Goodall is a sincere old girl, but is a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

I do not, however, understand trophy hunting. If you want to be seen as Billy Bob Badass, go hunt something that shoots back. Any idiot can hide in the bushes all day with a cannon and wait for an animal to walk by. Stupid, useless, and demeaning.

We used to collect frogs in spring when the flats flooded but we did eat the legs - delicious.

I have a photo of Dr, Goodall with our granddaughters hanging on the wall of the Playroom.

The fishing was also great around our dock that summer as the easy food from all the frog corpses attracted a lot of bass to the immediate area. Of course in those days I also had no problem with watching an animal struggle on the end of a line with a barbed hook in it's head. So I was off in a number of ways back in those days.

Boy! Memories!

The last time I went fishing.... the LAST time....., we were fishing for stripers in the York River in Maine. The bait we were using was live elvers.

As I sat in the boat casting and recasting, all the while torturing this dying animal by repeatedly slamming it into the surface of the water, the magnitude of the obscenity I was perpetrating slapped me upside the head. It completely put me off fishing for the rest of my life.

A similar episode occurred some yeas later. A friend who had a lot of whippets and a few goats found himself with a lot of whippets and a lot of goats.

He asked me to come by and off a couple of goats so that he could butcher them for dog food. So I went over to his place and began walking up to these innocent creatures and plugging them between the eyes. Turned out to be 8 or 9 goats, including one tiny little kid bleating for its mother (whom I had just killed).

I sold my one remaining gun the next day.

Apart from the frogs, and that only laster about two spring floods I have, I am happy to say, never killed anything beyond some mosquitoes in my life. I did sit with a pet cat while he went to sleep at the vets, but I figured I owed him that.

I see my dogs out whenever possible, sitting with them until its over whether by nature or by mercy.

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