I think most people have seen the news story (and probably the video) of the two kids from the Brookville kicking a wounded deer in the head to kill it. I will not post it and I have no desire to talk about those assholes. I hope they get punished for their actions.
The whole thing made me think about why I stopped hunting. I doubt I have ever told that story here before, nor do I ever really tell anyone that this was my reason to quit. When someone asks, I usually say that I just did not have time during college and I did not miss it, so it was not something to get back into at that time. That is partially true, but the whole story goes back a few years.
I hunted from a young age. I went out with Dad when I was eleven to sit with him a few times to get an idea of what it was like. I was so excited when I turned twelve to go out. I killed my share of animals. During my senior year, my dad suggested that we get our bear licenses so we could hunt that weekend before buck season (is it still the same in PA, or is bear season at a different time than it used to be?).
I was in my tree just watching the scenery, looking everywhere, listening for anything. And then BANG! I knew it was Dad since the gunshot was so close. I turned to where he was located and watched. A few minutes later, I hear something coming and spot a bear.
Allow me to pause for a second. This would have been 1998. We did not have cellphones. We did not have walkie-talkies. We had a complex system of Dad whistling if he needed help. Or me…well not whistling. I cannot whistle loudly at all.
Anyways, I see this bear lumbering and making weird noises. I could tell it was hit and when I looked at it through my scope, I saw blood. Then, it collapsed behind a fallen tree and I could just see the top of it’s body. And that is when it happened. The bear started to cry. It made the most awful sounds I have ever heard. It was like a moaning, barking combination. It made me sick to my stomach and I started to cry. I eventually came down from my tree with the intent of finishing it off, but by the time I got up to where it was, my dad was coming too and the bear had died.
We dragged the bear out of the woods and loaded him into the truck. Dad looked at me and asked if I wanted to go back out in the woods for a bit or if we just wanted to take it to the way station. I said we should just go to the station, since it was getting late. After we were done with that, we were sitting in the car in silence and I looked at him and said that I did not want to go back out the next day. I said that sound was awful and I do not want to kill a bear. Dad agreed and said that when he heard it, he started crying, he said it was the worst feeling he ever had while hunting.
I know many of my friends and family who hunt will probably laugh at me. They may not believe that my dad felt that way. Obviously he did not quit hunting (although to my knowledge, he never hunted bear again). I do not expect anyone to quit hunting because of this story. In fact, I love that my friends and family hunt. There are good reasons to do so. I also love that the people I know do respect animals and would never treat a dying animal the way those kids treated that deer.
The next year I did go out hunting one final time with Dad. We ended up getting in trouble with a game warden and I guess I lost my hunting privileges for a year. After that, I just never had any desire to go back out. I think the sound of that dying bear ruined it for me. So that is why I do not hunt.
Before anyone decides to jump down my throat here, let me say this again. I am not saying people should not hunt. I am not taking some SAVE THE ANIMALS stand here. I eat meat. I know that animals suffer to get me some delicious bacon and steak.
