Nimrod

 

In his youth my father was a professional hunter. From the fields and forests of north Alabama he harvested quail and rabbits, to sell to shopkeepers in town.

He raised bird dogs for his quail hunting. He continued to hunt for recreation into his later years.

My heritage included hunting. Pop took me duck hunting in 1951. We went
on a deer hunt in 1971. I continued into the 1990's. My last hunt was
with my good friend Stan, in New Mexico in 1992.

Many good memories.

However …

And I defer to the psychologists who presume to have an explanation for everything … perhaps they are correct, in saying that it is a sense of mortality attendant to aging that brings this evolution …

I no longer have any desire to kill anything.

Life seems sacred. I even find myself apologizing to a spider as I kill it.

I note a news report of a hunter rejoicing in killing a deer with freakishly huge antlers – and I am saddened.

I think “Why couldn't he have allowed that splendid animal to live?“

         Wir werden zu früh alt und zu spät schlau.