I Don’t Get It

Our Maine adventure is sadly drawing to a close. We only have three more days, two of which will be cloudy with a bit of rain. No matter how long we stay here, we are never ready to leave. There is only one thing that I will not miss when we finally drive away from this house, these guys…

Manny, Moe and Jack here have been watching our every move for nearly three weeks now. I sit here every morning knowing that I am being watched which is a bit disconcerting. For three weeks I have looked up at these guys and marveled at the concept of hanging the busts of dead animals on the walls of a house. I have many friends who do this. They are perfectly wonderful people. But for the life of me I cannot comprehend what the attraction is of immortalizing animals that you have…killed. 

You’re out in the woods hunting, which best I can tell, involves long stretches of silent boredom punctuated by short bursts of manic action involving gunfire. You see your prey out there fifty or even a hundred yards away. You lift your rifle slowly, bring the beast into your sights and then squeeze the trigger. If successful, the animal staggers then falls to the ground. You and your buddies gather around the freshly dead creature and congratulate each other. That’s basically the extent of your interaction with the recently departed. You had no prior history, no past experience that bound you together. It was just in the right place at the wrong time and you shot him from your hidden place at a considerable and safe distance. 

I’m not a hunter, but I don’t have a problem with anyone who is a hunter. My extended family is full of them. I have dear friends who love everything about hunting. But who on earth was the first guy who thought after shooting a buck, “I know what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna pay somebody a ton of money to slice the torso off of this thing, fill it full of God knows what to preserve it for eternity, attach it to a plaque and hang it on the wall over the fireplace. The wife is gonna love it!!”

It can’t be any emotional attachment, right? If that were the case we would pay a taxidermist to stuff our dogs when they die, but nobody does that because…it would be creepy and weird. But its nothing to walk into a lake cabin and see beasts of all kinds hanging all over the place. 

All I know is, when I glance up at the moose up there and see that giant, hulking mass of fur and antlers, I just hope he’s not plotting revenge!