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FROM THE DEER STAND

To hunt, or not

It’s the time of year we face the unpleasantess of our meat-eating ways

Marshall Helmberger
Posted 11/12/15

For a lot of us, I think, deer season is the time of year we think about our relationship with animals. For the vast majority of us, of course, it’s that one time of year we meet face to face with …

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FROM THE DEER STAND

To hunt, or not

It’s the time of year we face the unpleasantess of our meat-eating ways

Posted

For a lot of us, I think, deer season is the time of year we think about our relationship with animals. For the vast majority of us, of course, it’s that one time of year we meet face to face with the unpleasantness that comes inevitably from our decision to eat meat.

I’ve talked to many hunters who’ve given it up over the years, having watched in agony too many times as a deer struggles in its final moments. I know others who still go to deer camp, for the camaraderie, but remain behind as camp cook while the others go off each morning to hunt. For others, deer hunting is simply an excuse to spend time in the woods. They might carry a gun, but rarely ever chamber a round.

For me, as a younger man, the thrill of success usually tamped down those feelings of remorse in the aftermath of shooting a deer. These days, having shot so many deer over the years, there’s no thrill at all in pulling the trigger, only a recognition that the ensuing days of troubled sleep in the aftermath are the price that must be paid for my original sin. It’s my penance for living life as a killer of my fellow creatures.

I guess I’ve always believed in transparency, whether it’s in the operations of our government or in understanding the consequences of our actions. Every one of us who eats meat is a killer, whether we pull the trigger ourselves or not. And I’ve always been a do-it-yourselfer. I figure the day I can’t “do the deed” is the day I’ll be morally and ethically obligated to become a vegetarian.

I know that we live in a world where nature is rarely kind. I know, too, that virtually every fawn born in the woods here in the North Country is fated to a gruesome death somewhere down the road. By that measure, a hunter’s bullet, cleanly shot, could well be considered a mercy. These are the arguments that arise from the rational side of my brain. They’re indisputable, and they give me a small measure of solace.

But there are experiences that change us, sometimes quickly, more often over time. I still remember the moment, while walking to a deer stand, that I stood on the cliff edge behind our house, and watched a doe and two fawns, directly below me, in the early morning light. Observing them for several minutes, up close, the affection expressed as the fawns nuzzled each other and their mother was unmistakable. I had an antlerless tag, and had shot does and fawns in the past. But those few minutes changed me, and I haven’t shot a doe with fawns since. I watched that contented little family walk away instead.

We humans, of course, used to make things easier to justify. For centuries, we comforted ourselves with notions that animals were nothing more than unthinking automatons, ruled purely by instinct, bereft of emotion, and unable even to feel pain. Killing them was no more significant than shutting off a switch on a machine.

Today, of course, we know so much more, and the more we learn the more we understand that we aren’t as unique as we like to believe. We now know from brain scans on dogs that the same part of their brains light up when they see their masters as is triggered in new mothers when shown their infants. Oh sure, we still come across those stubborn, old school pontificators, who will intone in their most authoritarian voice whenever someone suggests that their dog might actually love them, that we mustn’t ascribe human emotions to animals. To which I now reply that it’s simply ascribing emotions to animals. It’s only a rapidly shrinking number of humans who, in their unabashed arrogance, think we, somehow, have a monopoly on feelings.

The Internet, of course, has changed so many things, including how we view animals, and I’m not referring to the seeming millions of cat videos that consume vast amounts of server capacity on social media. There are countless other amazing videos of animals. Elephants producing delicate and aesthetically powerful works of art. Animals rescuing other animals, or making friends across species. One of the most interesting that I’ve seen recently was a video of a beef cow that had learned to let itself out of its pen so it could play outside with a soccer ball. Watching this creature, who for all we know was slated for the slaughterhouse days later, kicking its heels in sheer joy as it bounced a soccer ball around its pen, will never allow me to look at a hamburger the same way again.

When we recognize that animals are feeling, sentient creatures with distinct personalities, emotional lives and a sense of themselves and others, it has to change the way we perceive ourselves and our relationship with our fellow creatures.

That’s why, for me, each deer season gets tougher. Heading out to the stand each opening day is probably more inertia than anything. I’ve been hunting deer since I was fifteen, so putting on orange and heading to the deer stand the first Saturday in November is ancient habit at this point.

Of course, in the past forty years the world has changed, and so have I. Maybe some day, I’ll change enough that I’ll put the aught-six away for good. I’ll just need a bigger garden.