Drizzt
Member
Hunting in Decline? Not in Dixie
Humberto Fontova
Thursday, Jan. 23, 2003
Last week NewsMax linked to a melancholy (to me) article in the Christian Science Monitor titled "Hunting in Decline." It quotes Heidi Prescott, national director of The Fund for Animals in New York: "Without a major reversal, the decline in hunting will mean that hunters are the next endangered species."
Sure could have fooled me. But I live in Louisiana. Heck, our woods and swamps and marshes get MORE crowded every year. No problem with hunting license sales down here whatsoever. In fact, duck license sales have increased dramatically the past five years.
So it’s appropriate that Louisiana holds a special place in the heart of that very Fund for Animals ("a rat is a pig is a dog is a boy"). According to Ms. Prescott’s organization we hold top honors in something they call "The Cavalcade of Cruelty."
Every year the FFA compiles an annual survey called "Body Count" where they rate states in a "Cavalcade of Cruelty." The more animals assassinated by hunters, as reported by wildlife agencies, the higher the ranking. Last year Louisiana took top honors with a combined bag of 7,376,541 animals.
"If Louisiana is the Sportsman's Paradise as its license plates boasts," wrote the FFA, "it's also an animal's hell."
Yes, folks, an "animal's hell." You see, employing The Fund For Animals' logic, if us bloodthirsty, beer-crazed Cajuns don't blast Bambi and Thumper and Donald and convert them to our Jambalaya, Gumbo and Sauce Piquant, they'd live happily ever after, like in a Disney cartoon.
At last! Louisiana’s No. 1 in SOMETHING! And the honor shines more brightly when we consider the state's puny population. Yet I say we were shortchanged. That 7,376,541 number should be higher – way higher.
Neighboring Mississippi, 11th in the Cavalcade with 4,667,091 animals wacked-out by its hunters, is actually getting credit for Cajun blood lust. It sells 25,000 non-resident licenses a year to Louisiana hunters. And we mow ‘em down mercilessly while over in the Magnolia State. So we want the credit for that slaughter too!
Ditto in Alabama, 12th in the Cavalcade with 3,800,269 animals "terminated with extreme prejudice" by its hunters. Thousands of Louisianans hunt in Alabama. So probably a quarter of their carnage is ours!
Our Texan neighbors? Well, Texas, with three times our population, is fourth. Those big-hatted boot-scooters massacred 5,737,584 animals. And again, that Texas figure includes much carnage by Louisiana hunters over there. We want the credit.
So listen up, Fund for Animals: Next year try to get the figures right. Figure in those non-resident hunting licenses. Next year we in Louisiana plan on being so far up that "Cavalcade Of Cruelty" nobody will even THINK of touching us. We want the competition to look down the barrel of a lead like the Saints in the third quarter. Okay?
But it's nice to see that most of Dixie made it into "The Dirty Dozen," what the FFA calls the top 12 in the Cavalcade.
And speaking of "profiling." Louisiana hunters in these neighboring states have been putting up with it for years. The cops in New York and Philly have nothing on the game wardens in Mississippi, Alabama and Texas. The latter see a Louisiana license plate or hear a Cajun accent – and that's it! They're pulling us over.
Always hassling us because the deer we shoot never have any of those "antler" things on their heads. Picky, picky, picky. All these doggone details!
Can't eat antlers. We've tried. And you don't see us whining like Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton or CAIR about how this profiling constitutes " discrimination" and a "violation of our rights" and all that claptrap. Hell, no. You see us learning the back roads to avoid the roadblocks
I loved The Fund for Animals' (Or was it PETA's ?) anti-fur campaign. The posters showed Cindy Crawford, Kim Basinger and assorted airheads nude but strategically covered. "I'd rather go nude than wear fur" read the caption.
Come again? I scratched my head when I saw it. This is ANTI-fur?! Aren't they implying that the more fur on the market the more likely they are to go nude? Am I right here? And this is how they propose to STOP trapping?
Methinks these gals spend too much time around the fellows who do their hair and photography. Listen up, Cindy, most trappers are male. Most fur coats are bought by husbands and boyfriends. Out here in red-section America human males are EXTREMELY FOND of gazing at the unclad female form.
When this form looks like yours, this fondness manifests itself in a form of delirium. So if you want to stop men from trapping animals and buying the end product, you do not promise to reward them for the opposite ... Geezum!
In Dixie we hear about those deer infestations in the Northeast and roar with mirth. "What’s wrong with those Yankees!" we cackle. "Let us at those deer! We’ll solve the problem in one weekend! And for FREE!"
Current estimates for the cost of deer-vehicle collisions in New York state run from $50 million to $70 million a year. Last year actor Liam Neeson smashed a deer with his Harley-Davidson near his upstate New York home. He was rushed to Sharon Hospital with a broken pelvis and several cuts, dents and gouges.
Nationwide about a hundred people die annually from hitting deer. Deer also cost New Yorkers $251 million in ornamental plant damage.
Down here our kids grow up right. "Bet HE’d be tender, hunh, Dad!" chirped my son when he first saw Bambi. "Cut those steaks with a fork!" And remember the movie "The Yearling" with Jane Wyman and Gregory Peck about the little boy who adopts a fawn? Wasn’t that yearling deer the cutest, most adorable, most huggable little thing you ever saw?
POW! POW! BLAM! BLAM! We watched the movie with the kids and a flock of their neighborhood friends. Every male in the room was pointing air guns at the TV and blasting away. I exaggerate a bit here. Actually, a few shot their air bows, complete with sound effects of the arrows hitting home – FLUNK! FLUNK!
It was a heartwarming thing to see. Looks like our spot at the top of that " Cavalcade of Cruelty" is secure for the next generation too.
An incident last year explains why no deer "infestations" bedevil us in down here. The Louisiana Department of Wildlife put a plastic deer with luminous eyes beside a well-traveled bayou highway, planning to stake the place out that night and maybe nab some poachers.
When they came back a little later for the actual stakeout, that deer was already ... remember Bonnie and Clyde at the end of the movie? Remember Sonny Corleone when they trapped him in that toll booth?
Well, they got off easy compared to this deer. Plastic deer confetti is what the agents found. The thing had been blasted to smithereens by every caliber bullet and conceivable projectile. A few recognizable pieces of plastic even had arrows sticking out of it. We take our cuisine seriously down here.
So the game agents came back with another plastic deer, put it out and STAYED this time. If I recall from the news story, about half the vehicles – everything from pickups to limousines – stopped and had a go at the deer with armaments ranging from standard rifles to shotguns to pistols to crossbows. One guy charged it with a pocketknife, cheered on by his wife. Another guy was observed belly-crawling toward the deer clenching a tire iron!
The game agents said they almost needed respirators on this fascinating assignment. Their midriffs ached for days.
Even women get into the butchery down here. Indeed, females make better deer hunters than males. Trust me here. They’re more patient than males, pay more attention to detail and – seriously – spot contrast and movement better than men. I’ve seen it time and again. Then I read an article in Outdoor Life that endorsed, scientifically, what I constantly noticed afield. Their eyes ARE different.
I decided to cash in on this. My chum Artie made me a custom deer stand that accommodates both me and my daughter Monica.. We were in it the dawn after Christmas with the horizon already pink. Daylight seeped slowly into the creek bottom and the squirrels and birds came alive. It was nice – cool but not cold. No bugs.
Monica was still, alert and vigilant. Wish I could claim the same. By 8:00 I was drowsing. "Wake me if you see something." ... Then I dozed off ... and dreamed ...
... "This is Matt Lauer reporting from New Orleans, Louisiana. President Bush declared a state of emergency in the Bayou State where PETA was staging a demonstration against a local deer hunt. PETA's activists followed the hunters into the woods and employed bullhorns to broadcast readings from the teachings of Mahatma Gandhi.
"This serves to enlighten the hunters in the ways of vegetarianism and non-violence," said PETA spokesperson Paul McCartney, "and to frighten off, and thus save, the poor defenseless deer." With his right eye swollen shut and 21 stitches in his mouth, the ex-Beatle's appearance horrified his fans in the press.
"These blokes certainly take hunting seriously," Paul sputtered painfully into a spittle-flecked microphone held by a snuffling Katie Couric. "Nothing like this happened in New Jersey. Remember, friends, All You Need Is Love."
"We came in the spirit of Gandhi!" blubbered Woody Harrelson, who nursed a grapefruit-sized ear and several facial welts. "And were met by that of George Patton!" Mr. Harrelson then collapsed in sobs into the arms of his friend Alec Baldwin, who tottered at his side on crutches.
"Get up – UP!" k. d. lang and chum Melissa Ethridge yanked Woody up by the collar and seized Alec roughly by the shoulders. "You're lucky we ran those yahoos off! They'd a killed ya, ya wussy!
"Meanwhile, at a local tavern, Richard Gere and Brad Pitt attempted to disrupt a cockfight – this barbarity remains legal in this peculiar state – by stepping into the ring itself . "The roosters immediately pounced on us!" stammered a still shaken Brad. "And I don't even eat chicken! And their owners incited them with bloodcurdling whoops!"
"Gere and Pitt’s flailing arms and wild screams were scant protection against the birds' sharp spurs and vicious beaks. Observers report that rather than attempting to help the frantic and terrified victims, the few beer-crazed spectators who hadn't collapsed in hysterics quickly set several more roosters on the hapless celebrities, whose screams "sounded like Yoko Ono sitting on a sea urchin," according to one howling and badly convulsed bar patron. ..."
Then I felt something tugging at my shirt ... huh? ... what? ... I awoke. "Dad! Dad!" Monica hissed, pointing toward the left at a patch of briars. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth tense. Then I saw the tail flick. GEEZUZ! A DEER!
Monica ducked and covered her ears. He was probably 80 yards away but obscured by too much brush.
The head came up and I saw little sprouts of antlers. Great, he’ll be good and tender. I was breathing in gasps. He took another step and his shoulder cleared the tree. The crosshairs wobbled crazily as my temples throbbed and heart pounded. I rested an elbow on my knee to steady the quivering crosshairs. ... Deep breath ... that’s it ... another deep breath. The crosshairs finally steady ... His head’s coming up again. S-t-a-r-t ... s-q-u-e-e-z-i-n-g – BLAAAM! ... Where? ...
"He’s DOWN!" ... YES! HE’S Down!" I howled like a lunatic. I was shaking like David Byrne in the "Once in a Lifetime" video. "Come on, Monica! Get down, Get DOWN! Let’s go!"
"Alright, Dad! Alright! Geezum, give me a chance!"
" Sorry, honey, I’m a little excited. Here, I’ll help you down." I stumbled from the third rung, wrenching my ankle and landing face first in the leaves. No matter. I walked over, beaming and ecstatic, my knees almost knocking together in their spasms. Monica was beaming too, then she looked over and pouted. "Awww, poor thing."
She’ll get over it. Always does, right about the time the succulent venison burgers come off the grill, or the braised venison cutlets covered in a burgundy-mushroom sauce.
Humberto Fontova holds an M.A. in history from Tulane University. He's the author of "Helldiver's Rodeo," described as "Highly entertaining!" by Publisher's Weekly, "A must-read!" by Booklist, and "Just what the doctor ordered!" by Ted Nugent.
http://www.newsmax.com/archives/articles/2003/1/23/135824.shtml
Humberto Fontova
Thursday, Jan. 23, 2003
Last week NewsMax linked to a melancholy (to me) article in the Christian Science Monitor titled "Hunting in Decline." It quotes Heidi Prescott, national director of The Fund for Animals in New York: "Without a major reversal, the decline in hunting will mean that hunters are the next endangered species."
Sure could have fooled me. But I live in Louisiana. Heck, our woods and swamps and marshes get MORE crowded every year. No problem with hunting license sales down here whatsoever. In fact, duck license sales have increased dramatically the past five years.
So it’s appropriate that Louisiana holds a special place in the heart of that very Fund for Animals ("a rat is a pig is a dog is a boy"). According to Ms. Prescott’s organization we hold top honors in something they call "The Cavalcade of Cruelty."
Every year the FFA compiles an annual survey called "Body Count" where they rate states in a "Cavalcade of Cruelty." The more animals assassinated by hunters, as reported by wildlife agencies, the higher the ranking. Last year Louisiana took top honors with a combined bag of 7,376,541 animals.
"If Louisiana is the Sportsman's Paradise as its license plates boasts," wrote the FFA, "it's also an animal's hell."
Yes, folks, an "animal's hell." You see, employing The Fund For Animals' logic, if us bloodthirsty, beer-crazed Cajuns don't blast Bambi and Thumper and Donald and convert them to our Jambalaya, Gumbo and Sauce Piquant, they'd live happily ever after, like in a Disney cartoon.
At last! Louisiana’s No. 1 in SOMETHING! And the honor shines more brightly when we consider the state's puny population. Yet I say we were shortchanged. That 7,376,541 number should be higher – way higher.
Neighboring Mississippi, 11th in the Cavalcade with 4,667,091 animals wacked-out by its hunters, is actually getting credit for Cajun blood lust. It sells 25,000 non-resident licenses a year to Louisiana hunters. And we mow ‘em down mercilessly while over in the Magnolia State. So we want the credit for that slaughter too!
Ditto in Alabama, 12th in the Cavalcade with 3,800,269 animals "terminated with extreme prejudice" by its hunters. Thousands of Louisianans hunt in Alabama. So probably a quarter of their carnage is ours!
Our Texan neighbors? Well, Texas, with three times our population, is fourth. Those big-hatted boot-scooters massacred 5,737,584 animals. And again, that Texas figure includes much carnage by Louisiana hunters over there. We want the credit.
So listen up, Fund for Animals: Next year try to get the figures right. Figure in those non-resident hunting licenses. Next year we in Louisiana plan on being so far up that "Cavalcade Of Cruelty" nobody will even THINK of touching us. We want the competition to look down the barrel of a lead like the Saints in the third quarter. Okay?
But it's nice to see that most of Dixie made it into "The Dirty Dozen," what the FFA calls the top 12 in the Cavalcade.
And speaking of "profiling." Louisiana hunters in these neighboring states have been putting up with it for years. The cops in New York and Philly have nothing on the game wardens in Mississippi, Alabama and Texas. The latter see a Louisiana license plate or hear a Cajun accent – and that's it! They're pulling us over.
Always hassling us because the deer we shoot never have any of those "antler" things on their heads. Picky, picky, picky. All these doggone details!
Can't eat antlers. We've tried. And you don't see us whining like Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton or CAIR about how this profiling constitutes " discrimination" and a "violation of our rights" and all that claptrap. Hell, no. You see us learning the back roads to avoid the roadblocks
I loved The Fund for Animals' (Or was it PETA's ?) anti-fur campaign. The posters showed Cindy Crawford, Kim Basinger and assorted airheads nude but strategically covered. "I'd rather go nude than wear fur" read the caption.
Come again? I scratched my head when I saw it. This is ANTI-fur?! Aren't they implying that the more fur on the market the more likely they are to go nude? Am I right here? And this is how they propose to STOP trapping?
Methinks these gals spend too much time around the fellows who do their hair and photography. Listen up, Cindy, most trappers are male. Most fur coats are bought by husbands and boyfriends. Out here in red-section America human males are EXTREMELY FOND of gazing at the unclad female form.
When this form looks like yours, this fondness manifests itself in a form of delirium. So if you want to stop men from trapping animals and buying the end product, you do not promise to reward them for the opposite ... Geezum!
In Dixie we hear about those deer infestations in the Northeast and roar with mirth. "What’s wrong with those Yankees!" we cackle. "Let us at those deer! We’ll solve the problem in one weekend! And for FREE!"
Current estimates for the cost of deer-vehicle collisions in New York state run from $50 million to $70 million a year. Last year actor Liam Neeson smashed a deer with his Harley-Davidson near his upstate New York home. He was rushed to Sharon Hospital with a broken pelvis and several cuts, dents and gouges.
Nationwide about a hundred people die annually from hitting deer. Deer also cost New Yorkers $251 million in ornamental plant damage.
Down here our kids grow up right. "Bet HE’d be tender, hunh, Dad!" chirped my son when he first saw Bambi. "Cut those steaks with a fork!" And remember the movie "The Yearling" with Jane Wyman and Gregory Peck about the little boy who adopts a fawn? Wasn’t that yearling deer the cutest, most adorable, most huggable little thing you ever saw?
POW! POW! BLAM! BLAM! We watched the movie with the kids and a flock of their neighborhood friends. Every male in the room was pointing air guns at the TV and blasting away. I exaggerate a bit here. Actually, a few shot their air bows, complete with sound effects of the arrows hitting home – FLUNK! FLUNK!
It was a heartwarming thing to see. Looks like our spot at the top of that " Cavalcade of Cruelty" is secure for the next generation too.
An incident last year explains why no deer "infestations" bedevil us in down here. The Louisiana Department of Wildlife put a plastic deer with luminous eyes beside a well-traveled bayou highway, planning to stake the place out that night and maybe nab some poachers.
When they came back a little later for the actual stakeout, that deer was already ... remember Bonnie and Clyde at the end of the movie? Remember Sonny Corleone when they trapped him in that toll booth?
Well, they got off easy compared to this deer. Plastic deer confetti is what the agents found. The thing had been blasted to smithereens by every caliber bullet and conceivable projectile. A few recognizable pieces of plastic even had arrows sticking out of it. We take our cuisine seriously down here.
So the game agents came back with another plastic deer, put it out and STAYED this time. If I recall from the news story, about half the vehicles – everything from pickups to limousines – stopped and had a go at the deer with armaments ranging from standard rifles to shotguns to pistols to crossbows. One guy charged it with a pocketknife, cheered on by his wife. Another guy was observed belly-crawling toward the deer clenching a tire iron!
The game agents said they almost needed respirators on this fascinating assignment. Their midriffs ached for days.
Even women get into the butchery down here. Indeed, females make better deer hunters than males. Trust me here. They’re more patient than males, pay more attention to detail and – seriously – spot contrast and movement better than men. I’ve seen it time and again. Then I read an article in Outdoor Life that endorsed, scientifically, what I constantly noticed afield. Their eyes ARE different.
I decided to cash in on this. My chum Artie made me a custom deer stand that accommodates both me and my daughter Monica.. We were in it the dawn after Christmas with the horizon already pink. Daylight seeped slowly into the creek bottom and the squirrels and birds came alive. It was nice – cool but not cold. No bugs.
Monica was still, alert and vigilant. Wish I could claim the same. By 8:00 I was drowsing. "Wake me if you see something." ... Then I dozed off ... and dreamed ...
... "This is Matt Lauer reporting from New Orleans, Louisiana. President Bush declared a state of emergency in the Bayou State where PETA was staging a demonstration against a local deer hunt. PETA's activists followed the hunters into the woods and employed bullhorns to broadcast readings from the teachings of Mahatma Gandhi.
"This serves to enlighten the hunters in the ways of vegetarianism and non-violence," said PETA spokesperson Paul McCartney, "and to frighten off, and thus save, the poor defenseless deer." With his right eye swollen shut and 21 stitches in his mouth, the ex-Beatle's appearance horrified his fans in the press.
"These blokes certainly take hunting seriously," Paul sputtered painfully into a spittle-flecked microphone held by a snuffling Katie Couric. "Nothing like this happened in New Jersey. Remember, friends, All You Need Is Love."
"We came in the spirit of Gandhi!" blubbered Woody Harrelson, who nursed a grapefruit-sized ear and several facial welts. "And were met by that of George Patton!" Mr. Harrelson then collapsed in sobs into the arms of his friend Alec Baldwin, who tottered at his side on crutches.
"Get up – UP!" k. d. lang and chum Melissa Ethridge yanked Woody up by the collar and seized Alec roughly by the shoulders. "You're lucky we ran those yahoos off! They'd a killed ya, ya wussy!
"Meanwhile, at a local tavern, Richard Gere and Brad Pitt attempted to disrupt a cockfight – this barbarity remains legal in this peculiar state – by stepping into the ring itself . "The roosters immediately pounced on us!" stammered a still shaken Brad. "And I don't even eat chicken! And their owners incited them with bloodcurdling whoops!"
"Gere and Pitt’s flailing arms and wild screams were scant protection against the birds' sharp spurs and vicious beaks. Observers report that rather than attempting to help the frantic and terrified victims, the few beer-crazed spectators who hadn't collapsed in hysterics quickly set several more roosters on the hapless celebrities, whose screams "sounded like Yoko Ono sitting on a sea urchin," according to one howling and badly convulsed bar patron. ..."
Then I felt something tugging at my shirt ... huh? ... what? ... I awoke. "Dad! Dad!" Monica hissed, pointing toward the left at a patch of briars. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth tense. Then I saw the tail flick. GEEZUZ! A DEER!
Monica ducked and covered her ears. He was probably 80 yards away but obscured by too much brush.
The head came up and I saw little sprouts of antlers. Great, he’ll be good and tender. I was breathing in gasps. He took another step and his shoulder cleared the tree. The crosshairs wobbled crazily as my temples throbbed and heart pounded. I rested an elbow on my knee to steady the quivering crosshairs. ... Deep breath ... that’s it ... another deep breath. The crosshairs finally steady ... His head’s coming up again. S-t-a-r-t ... s-q-u-e-e-z-i-n-g – BLAAAM! ... Where? ...
"He’s DOWN!" ... YES! HE’S Down!" I howled like a lunatic. I was shaking like David Byrne in the "Once in a Lifetime" video. "Come on, Monica! Get down, Get DOWN! Let’s go!"
"Alright, Dad! Alright! Geezum, give me a chance!"
" Sorry, honey, I’m a little excited. Here, I’ll help you down." I stumbled from the third rung, wrenching my ankle and landing face first in the leaves. No matter. I walked over, beaming and ecstatic, my knees almost knocking together in their spasms. Monica was beaming too, then she looked over and pouted. "Awww, poor thing."
She’ll get over it. Always does, right about the time the succulent venison burgers come off the grill, or the braised venison cutlets covered in a burgundy-mushroom sauce.
Humberto Fontova holds an M.A. in history from Tulane University. He's the author of "Helldiver's Rodeo," described as "Highly entertaining!" by Publisher's Weekly, "A must-read!" by Booklist, and "Just what the doctor ordered!" by Ted Nugent.
http://www.newsmax.com/archives/articles/2003/1/23/135824.shtml
