Monday, July 7, 2014

Killing & Honor



Geezer ‘n Dog Project
July 2014

“Killing is the natural order of things.” Honor is a uniquely human construct.

Five hundred and sixty miles north of the Mexican border, a team of six camo-clad shooters gathered in the cool pre-dawn dark awaiting jump-off instructions on their first operation together. The ramrod, a leader of men and an accomplished man-hunter, handpicked the team.  Some members were unknown to each other prior to the evening operational briefing. Five of the team had creds for kills, and one did not but possessed excellent rifle skills. Using local spotters, the team was advised to travel light and only bring a rifle, ammunition and shooting sticks. Tension mounted with a high expectation of intercepting the marauders as they retreated from the ranches to the protective cover of chaparral.

 Game on! Mounting up into two trucks and a UTV, the party slipped off into the dark under a clear sky. The vehicles separated in different directions traversing dirt roads that twisted and turned, ascended coastal hills and descended into valleys. As dawn broke, all eyes scanned the hills and scrub vegetation. The local guides exchanged messages via two-way radio. I cursed myself for not bringing along my binoculars and a jacket to offset the cutting wind whipping through windows reluctantly left open to improve vision.  Stopping numerous times to scout the countryside gave relief from the wind but did nothing to ward off the damp chill of the fog now obliterating the morning sun. Huddling against the truck grill soaking up warmth from the radiator, I shook from the cold penetrating to the core.  I doubted that I would be able to hold the rifle steady enough to make a shot.

Suddenly the radio crackled out a message that marauders were seen and on the move. The cold forgotten, our driver transformed into Mad Max as our truck careened cross-country and along one-lane dirt ranch roads at up to 50 plus miles per hour. Heedless of the danger and damage being done to the suspension of the truck, we hurtled over the top of a hill seeing nothing but sky and no visibility of the road below us.  The goal was to get out ahead and set-up an ambush.

Inside our potential coffin we held on for life; no time for seatbelts. I stared in disbelief as the tires skirted the edge of the dirt road mere inches from deep ravines. I hoped to not be impaled upon my own rifle should we tumble into an abyss. The guide stood in the bed of his truck clinging to the roll bar/rear window screen with his 3 tethered hound dogs at his feet. Pounding on the roof of the truck, he shouted the whereabouts of scattering marauders as the truck bucked and careened around corners. Sliding to a stop at an ambush spot, the guide leapt from the truck bed bellowing, “Get Out!, Get Out!” and then, “Shoot that Pig! Shoot that Pig!” We remounted as quickly as we dismounted to the words of “Let’s go, let’s go!” and off we roared with a madman at the wheel.

We each bagged a marauder, a wild boar, in what can only be described as the wildest hunting rodeo ever; and no one crashed.

As to the hounds, the guide explained that he did not intend to use the dogs in the hunt, but he brought them along anyway, just in case I suppose.  Just in case happened, and the dogs were used.

When I saw the hounds tethered in the truck, I knew that these were not happy dogs.  They appeared, the best that I can explain it, to be depressed.  Those hounds undoubtedly knew what was about to happen; they were going to be wildly flung around in the bed of the truck while attached by the neck.  This was not their first rodeo. Don’t get me wrong, these dogs were more than willing to chase pigs, and they did. Two dogs were already chasing a hog when the guide unhooked the remaining dog, picked her up and tossed her from the truck like a sack of potatoes.   The hound landed on her feet with enough force to cause her to partially collapse by the side of the road. She appeared to be in pain when she slowly arose just prior to trotting off after her baying partners in hot pursuit. The hounds, fully engaged in their natural predator/prey instinct, caught that boar and harassed him while dodging slashing razor sharp tusks.

The guide abused his dogs and treated them just like his truck, a piece of equipment to be used, discarded and replaced when broken. Mistreating animals is not in my play book. It is not the relationship that I have with my dog nor have I ever had with my horses and prior dogs.

Though I treat my animals well, some will declare me a hypocritical animal killer and my killing of a wild boar as a brutal and needless act of violence.

The subsistence indigenous peoples are said to honor the animals that they kill. That uniquely human attribute is foreign to people who have never killed that which they eat. Most people go to the supermarket and restaurant without giving a thought to the animal that they consume. The fact that their steak and hamburger was once a living, breathing animal is not forgotten, but it is conveniently tucked away from everyday consciousness. 

Subsistence harvesting of the earth’s wild animals and plants can no longer support the human masses.  It is a shame that most humans have consequently lost their innate understanding and connection to the natural way of things.  Any suggestion that man should kill his own meat assaults the sensibilities of many.

I call my wild boar “Dink” because he was the smallest boar taken that day.  The guide said that he was going to be the best tasting boar. And, he is delicious.  But, he is more than delicious to me. I see him as he was, and I acknowledge that I took his life to provide me food.  I didn’t have to kill Dink to get food.  I could have gone to Costco and bought all the pork that I wanted and for a whole lot less money. But, I do not know nor have a memory of the swine that died to become Costco fare leaving me bereft of a connection with store bought meat.

I think about Dink, and I do honor him.  I suppose that is much like the practice of indigenous subsistence peoples. There is a connection to and a reverence for nature not experienced by those who let others do the killing. 

Honor and shame are unique human constructs. The shame is not in the killing, it is the loss of honor.  We have become too civilized, a little less human.

(The delectable meal is pan-fried Dink chops simmered in peaches and accompanied by home grown zucchini, mushrooms and Parmesan cheese. I bought the Crown Royal at Costco.)

Regards,
Geezer


Geezer ‘n Dog Project is intended to generally address the subject of humans and their relationships with dogs. Specifically, I’m interested in the phenomena of old guys and their dogs. I’ll post with no regularity, but as the mood strikes me or when my dog speaks to me.  You can’t rush Geezers.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

A New Project

Welcome to the new blog. It is intended to generally address the subject of humans and their relationships with dogs. Specifically, I’m interested in the phenomena of old guys and their dogs.

I’ll post with no regularity, but as the mood strikes me or when my dog speaks to
me. You can’t rush Geezers.