*Hunting Stories

I hunted in Colorado as a teenager, but gave it up after I was a 16 years old.  A bad experience with some men my stepfather and I partnered up with left me with the same disdainful image that a lot of people hold for hunters, -piggish, destructive neanderthals.  It is a low-cost, easy image to come to since we can, if we choose, shoot down to the local store for a pound of ground beef.   In my thirties, I met some older gentlemen who had what I would call a bit more of a zen approach.  They were respectful, obedient of the rules, and always tried to give more than they took.  I don’t trophy hunt.  I eat what I take, and though the entire case can’t be made in a category intoduction, I see myself as a necessary agent in the herd culling process. It has been a great source of memories with my son even on unsuccessful outings, and as someone with a diverse crowd of friends I try to be mindful of vegetarian feelings (my 16 year old daughter is one).  These stories don’t hit Facebook. For those who are interested, these are my stories: