By Margaret Fogel
Hunting as a sport! What in the world is sporting about killing an animal for the sheer joy of ceasing its existence? Big- and/or wild-game hunting—exemplified by our brave warrior, dentist Walter Palmer, killing Cecil the protected lion for the sole purpose of photographing himself with the slaughter and mounting the nebulous achievement on a wall or as a carpet—should be embarrassing to anyone with a semblance of self-respect. How much less damaging it would be for this “sportsman” to have hunted out a Viagra prescription to feed his inadequacy.
Less damaging to the ever-increasing number of endangered species, but nevertheless satisfying the need for some to show their superiority over animals, which are often denounced as having limited intelligence or as “dumb animals” are our local “sportsmen” and women.
The feeble rational that, “I eat everything I kill” is just an excuse. The cost of firearm, ammo, license, gear, gas, trolls, etc., far outweighs what they could buy over the counter, the meat they can purchase to satisfy their stomach… but obviously not their gut. It seems that a blood lust, no different from that of our daring dentist, is what they truly seek to satisfy. “Watch me, everyone. I have the power to needlessly take a life at will. Feel my muscle.”
Pitiful!
Margaret Fogel
Flushing
