A HUNTER'S APOLOGIA
(Page 8 of 8)
November/December 1988
By David Petersen
Here there are no sharp or electrified wire boundaries. "He wears no constricting band slowly cutting off the flow of blood to his testicles. He didn't stand corralled and knee-deep in snow and his own dung waiting to be fed, castrated, earmarked, dehorned and injected, and knocked on the head at the end of two years."
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THE LONG, TENSE TIME OF WAITING has passed. I stand, pick up my bow and take up the blood trail. I know of no more honest, natural or challenging way to earn my winter's meat. For I am a hunter, and I make no apologies.
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