Jon, I just want to say up front that you should not read this post.
I want to say two things before I get to the heart of my post. One is that this Alabama monster pig has caused more calls to fly between my house and the recalcitrant brother’s than anything in recent memory. The other is that I eat meat and am not about to stop.
However, I just have to say that this pig story grosses me right the fuck out. In my world, hunters hunt for food. If it takes you more than a couple of shots to kill your prey, that’s a failure. The point of hunting is to make a clean kill of something you’re going to eat or wear or otherwise use for sustinence, not to inflict as much pain on a suffering animal as possible before it mercifly dies.
Sometimes, you have to hunt for self-protection–coyotes often have to be removed from property, raccoons sometimes have to be killed. Even beloved farm animals and pets sometimes have to be put down as quickly as possible.
Sometimes, you hunt because we’ve removed the top of the food chain and so it’s up to us to control certain animal populations.
Again, though, in every case, the hunter’s goal is to make a clean kill–to put the animal down with as few a shots as necessary.
Sometimes, you might have to shoot at an animal that wishes you harm–like a bear or even a feral pig. And in that case, I can understand why you’d come back and say to your friends, “Holy shit, it took me six shots to kill it!”
But let’s think of another scenario. Say that my neighbors decided that Mrs. Wigglebottom deserved to be shot (and, sadly, there are times when dogs have to be shot). What if they put her in a pen and shot at her six times over the course of three hours before she finally, mercifully, died?
Do you think there’d be a news outlet in the nation calling those fuckers up to ask them in awed tones to talk about how big she was? What it was he did to be rewarded by his father with being able to shoot my dog six times?
I hope not.
And yet, when the Lost Plantation purchased Fred, a gentle farm raised pig who liked to be hand-fed sweet potatoes, four days before Jamison Stone made his now infamous kill, and put him in an enclosure, that’s the death they intended for him.
I’m going to say, I feel bad for Jamison Stone, because he’s eleven, but everybody else involved in this story needs to be slapped upside the head.