On hunting

My father's hunting practices
have never been more academically scrutinized
in my eyes until now.
His red and black checkered coat
and bright orange hat
were never questioned or criticized
in my family.
He left early in the morning and
would only return, usually empty handed
when the sun was below the rolling
mountains.
"Nothing," he would say
"the deer know I'm coming now."
I have never hunted myself, knowing
full well that I could no sooner
successfully sneak up on a deer than
kill it. I prefer to enjoy the animals
that my father brings to the table.
Berstein writes for sixteen pages
about the cruelty of hunting and
the uselessness of hunting in our world today.
I had never really had a strong opinion about
hunting until I read his article and realized that
perhaps because of my family,
perhaps because of my values,
the opinion has been there all along.
How can he say that killing a cow
is any more responsible than killing a deer?
Indeed, to give more right to life to one animal
over another leaves your argument null, nothing.
Yes there are hunters that hunt all wrong,
for the wrong purposes,
for sport.
But there are also those who need to hunt.
Food on the table that was once free
is infinitely better than
beef infused with antibiotics,
unclear whether it ever was a cow
and shipped from thousands of miles away.
Deer meat, while perhaps not the best option
is a better option.
And while this earth turns,
there will always be someone who eats meat.
So I say,
let them eat meat that has run through the woods,
drank from mountain streams
and eaten fat acorns.
We are part of nature if we let ourselves be
and hunting in the right way
is really just living.