Ben has been hunting and shooting again, picking up from where he left off as a kid in Indiana and I have to say it has intrigued me greatly. I grew up in Southern CA, people don't hunt from where I am from, they eat salad. I did not grow up with a gun in my house, I never held a gun, shot a gun, knew how to buy a gun, etc. That has changed a lot. I feel fairly educated and I will continue to grow and learn more about these crazy things that begin political debates, heated conversations and are the subject of many bumper stickers!
How did I get here? It all began with shooting lessons about a year ago. Like I said, I had never held a gun before so when the instructor brought 3 pistols over to the table I think I even backed my chair up a little, thinking I better not get too close. He did eventually make me touch it - even though I was nervous and uncomfortable. My three next lessons were spent at the indoor range with many different kinds of pistols and the instructor led me through my stance, my balance, safety procedure, how to remain steady, take my time, wait for the right shot ( apparently going POW, POW, POW is frowned upon).
After I felt confident on my own, we kept visiting the range, even spending date nights occasionally. Eventually, it felt like bowling...
You rent your gear, get your safety glasses on, pick a lane, put up the targets and take turns trying to shoot the bulls eye...
Next, I started on the long guns, I REALLY like the long guns. I feel less like a bad guy and more like a mountain man, ok I guess mountain WOman is more like it. I just feel less East LA and more Idaho if you get my drift.
I enjoy the hobby of long guns, using the scopes and hitting far away targets. I enjoy shooting clays and even began the thought of hunting, yes the ugly sport of shooting and killing an animal. This is where I may get politically incorrect for which, I will not apologize because it all has a fantastic ending that even you can't resist.
If I back up here you may get where I am going....I love to cook. I love to cook anything and everything. I love ingredients and enjoy finding fresh, healthy delicious things to feed my family. We garden, we do CSA boxes, we even flew a cow from Texas so I can feed my family food I am proud of.
What is simpler then killing, skinning, butchering and cooking your own animal? Short of raising one, and I just haven't been given the opportunity to do that yet.
Let's get back to hunting day...we arrive at the ranch just after coffee time and are greeted by the meat hooks that resemble swing sets...a man tells us he has a hunch where one may be so Ben and I head off over yonder, up steep hills and down even steeper hills. We spot what we think may be a pig under a shrub like tree and we approach quietly...it is peaceful and yes I thought- this poor pig has no idea I want to make him my dinner...that is when I think of all the slaughtering houses and the amount of squealing you must hear and the stench and the inhumane ways those thousands of pigs are treated and i think to myself, "If I were a pig I'd rather be out one day and gone the next, not in muck and filth and killed while hung and defenseless..."
I have to admit at this part of the story that I was a bit scared that the pig would charge at me, or make some loud intimidating sound, I was prepared to chicken out, but he grunted and wallowed and kept fishing in the tall grass for something more interesting to find...
And so I had to set up my shot. He was uphill from me when we found him so we figured a way to get up above him, through the dry hot ground and into the tall grass on the slope I went, that is when I left like I was in a hunting show...it was weird, we didn't really whisper though, and there was no hunting cam close up in my face - the part I really missed was I lacked the face paint.
I found a good spot, sat down and prepared my gun. It was not like practicing at the range where you have a comfy chair and a table to set up on, once I figured that out I simply propped it on my knee and found the pig in my scope, there he was...was he looking at me or was I looking at his rump? Oh boy this is tricky. You see the pig is grey and white, only he is white in the middle so both ends look the same especially in grass almost as tall as he is. I remember asking Ben if it mattered if I hit his rump (considering that is where most of the meat is the answer is YES, this I learned at the skinning and gutting stage). I was curious as to whether I would pull the trigger, maybe I'd have some reservation find a warm place in my heart for all God's creatures - not today folks! It looked up at me, I reacted and immediately my ear was ringing! I shot the darn thing without a second thought. It happened sooo fast! Well except for the dying part...it took a lot longer then I thought.
Once the pig was back up at the camp and hooked onto the "swingset" the heaviness of what happened sank in. He was tall hanging there, all stretched out. He offered a lot of meat to bring home. I wanted to protect it and keep it clean. It felt like a trophy of prize pork, but I was not interested in it's head or the remnants of the "prize". This is where I have trouble with the sport of hunting. For me the prize was the wealth of the meat, to feed my family and friends, not so I would have a trophy. This is what made me feel ok with my hunt today. I am proud.I was right there with the man who skinned it, I was amazed at the organs and each carefully wrapped sack that slipped out of the innards. Then it was done, it was left naked, skinless, and ready for seasoning.
They plopped the pig, beautiful and pink, his skinned muscles surprisingly clean into our container in the back of Ben's truck. We drove down to the gas station and bought 5 bags of ice to cool the meat down. It needed to stay chilled until we got home to wrap it in plastic and place it in our freezer.
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