WARNING: This is a rant about hunting, dear readers. I'm angry with my husband and, since the man can't be bothered to read my blog, I'm going to air our dirty laundry for all of you (tee, hee, hee).

He loves to hunt. I hate that he does, but he's done it since I've known him (indeed, since he was old enough to hold a gun). He is a country boy and I can hardly expect him to change now.

Whenever I harped on him about it, he'd give the whole spiel about deer overruning our communities and starving to death and yatta, yatta, yatta.

Fine, whatever.

He hunts deer with every weapon the law allows -- from bow and arrow to rifle to muzzleloader. Hell, he'd probably go out with a slingshot or a blowtorch if they declared it a "season."

Add in turkey (spring and fall) and various other poor woodland creatures and he hunts nine months out of the year.

This is the only time of the year he doesn't hunt...until now. Now, he's planning to go Coyote hunting.

Coyotes.

Canines.

Dogs.

What the hell for? The pure joy of the kill? The challenge (how challenging is it to shoot an animal with a GUN from 50 feet away)?

He can't even justify it (and, for the record, he doesn't feel he SHOULD have to justify anything to me, by the way). Coyotes are not dangerous (I've never seen one and I know they live in the gorge behind our house), they're not overpopulated and starving (so killing them isn't for "their own good" like it is for the deer). And, well, last I knew the man didn't have crops or cattle to protect.

So, what's the point? What are they going to do with these poor creatures if they kill one (or more). Dance over them, skin them and wear the fur, hang their privates around their neck as a symbol their own manhood?

Whatever.

What a collosal waste of time and energy. Not to mention a tragic waste of life should some hapless coyote cross their path.

And he calls himself a dog lover.