Sunday morning, I slept in until almost 7 AM before getting up to feed Lola and let her poop the yard. Soon after, she panted and rumbled her way back up the stairs and jumped back up into bed with Wifey. She’s my dog twice a day.

I was up, doing my thing; making coffee, dumping out, looking at the footy schedule for the day, and deciding what to do with myself (both for the day and on a global scale).

As the sun started to rise in an attempt to warm the chilly autumn morning, I poured another cup of coffee and decided to briefly soak in some of that sunshine on the front porch, even if it would be short due to the cold.

I unlocked the door, stepped outside into the brisk morning air, and gazed out over the sunlight reflecting off the heavy dew on the lawn. Soon after, I heard a flight of geese honking in the distance.

As their honking became increasingly closer, I took a long sip of coffee and could feel a smile come to my face as sunlit steam bellowed from my mug into the morning air.

As the warm coffee and sunlight washed over me, I was briefly content with the world as I awaited the flight of geese to make their appearance overhead, hoping they were flying low enough to hear their wings slice through the air as I have many times in the past.  

BANG! BANG!

BANG!

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

My contentedness drained from me like I just nipped my last turd, as I immediately knew that it must be goose hunting season again, something I forget every year until I hear the unwelcome blasts of gunshots on that first morning.

I swallowed my coffee as the shots continued to ring out from the farm field just to our north, and I could see part of the wedge of geese through the trees. I quickly pivoted on my slippered feet, swallowed my coffee, and said, “Nope, not today!” as I retreated inside and quickly shut the door I had opened seconds earlier behind me, thankful not to have seen any of the geese fall violently to earth.

This whole incident happened in about 10 seconds and is an unfortunate microcosm of my issues with letting myself be happy. One second, I am feeling at peace and about to get in touch with my true self, the next second, I’m turning away in disgust, hoping not to avoid seeing any early morning carnage as shots ring out and trigger my tinnitus.

There was a time in my life when I accepted all the modern-day propaganda for hunting: too many critters, cuts down disease, healthier meat than stores, etc. But, whether from years of being in the woods with the critters, or from reading too much of Endgame Volume 1, I say “fuck off!” (Note: big thanks to my brother for gifting me that book for my birthday).

It’s not too many animals; it’s too many humans pushing the animals out of land that is rightfully theirs, and most of the animals are just looking for places to live that haven’t been completely destroyed by man, and our self-anointed environmental manifest destiny. I also question the healthiness of the meat, given that every spring and summer, millions of gallons of pesticides are dumped on the fields for higher yields (more money), and all those deer and geese treat the fields like they’re a gahadamn Sizzler. And that’s not even taking into consideration the amount of land in the area that is closed off due to years and years of corporations dumping and burying chemicals wherever they wanted during the halcyon days of scorched-earth capitalism.

For the record, despite my distaste for hunting and hatred of guns, I don’t actually have a problem with hunters. Hunting and gathering for sustenance are natural human instincts, and ain’t nobody going to stop it. And surely the damage done by modern society’s endless desire for “stuff” as well as the harm big agriculture, chemical companies, and energy corporations do to our natural resources and non-human population is worse on every level. But I do have a problem with humans who kill for the sake of “lawful” killing and to feel a brief rush of superiority over non-humans while wielding high-powered shotguns. These are the same fuckers that wear 2nd Amendment rights t-shirts or get “We The People” tattoos on their glowing white caucasian skin. To those fuckers I say I hope an angry goose rips your ball bag off and a buck gores you with all 8 points; it will be thoroughly deserved.

Oh well, enough yelling at the sky. Time to go try to not think… about anything. Especially geese.

Later.

Note: All photos are by me and taken whilst out lumbering and photo creeping.