The Art of Dylan

Time of Year: November/December
Evening
Everyone is in soft fuzzy pants, fluffy socks, oversized sweatshirts. An orange fire in a large wood cabin living room sparks and whitsles as background music. Lighting is warm and soft. Everyone has warm drinks. Some are alcoholic. We have hot cocoa with baileys, egg nog, and hot totties. Micro groups of conversation go on within the large group of friends.

City boy, smug, riteous, curious: “So, that photo of you with a deer. Did you kill it?”
Me, big humble smile, and a nod, “Yes.”
My husband, big proud smile, “And she got it in the heart, man that moment was amazing.”
Others in the background start to grow more silent and listen. Some girls sadly moan, “oooh…” while some other city men nod their heads in appreciation and mutter, “that’s awesome,” or “dope”.

City Boy turns to my husband and with conviction questions, “And you’re proud of that? You find that sexy?”
My husband, growing a little defensive puts his arm on the small of my back. He grabs the eyes of the city boy with his own. My husband, he has a knack for that. Most of the time he enjoys fun light conversations, but when he is serious he will force anyone to look him in the eyes with just the emminating energy coming from his own. Simply put, he states, “Extremely.”
The room is now completely quiet except for the embers in tha background. The warm lights seem to dance with the sound of the fire cracking, and it feels heavy. My smile fades.

City Boy now turns to me, “How could you do that to a poor animal?”

My heart skips and runs into an obvious emotionally stress induced arrythmia. My palms grow sweaty, the small of my back where my husbands hand rests is hot, my face grows a tinge of pink.

I take a deep breathe. Now, it’s my turn to grab his eyes. “Listen, there are two things in this world that make my blood boil. One of them is obvious injustice. But for some reason what bothers me more than that his hypocricy.”

City Boy’s body stiffens. He did not like the word that I threw out. The room’s tension is tight and small now. Amazing how a large cozy living room can feel so claustrophic at times. It’s quite distracting.

I take a breathe to calm the sound of the blood pumping in my ears. I hone back in on this city boy.

“Do you eat meat?” I ask.
“Of course I do.” He was taken a back. “I eat meat from the grocery store like a civilized man.”

“Point one. Now Follow along, okay? There will be three points. One: The meat you eat from the store is tainted. The animals you eat are bred to be eaten. They are born to live no life, have no life, then die. They sit in a 5×5 cell, just big enough for them to turn around, eat, sleep, piss, and shit. You may get grass fed roaming animals, which costs more and I sort of take you as someone who will take a deal half the time. But they also go through the same stress that the 5×5 cell animals go through when it’s time to be slaughtered. Now, as a healthcare professional I happen to know that when animals are stressed or depressed they release certain hormones. You, sir, are eating this tainted meat of these sad and stressed hormones from depressed and stressed animals.

My animals, that I hunt and eat, they have had a life. They were born wild, not born caged. They roamed free, fucked, made babies, ate like true animals, and never had the stress yours go through. I then kill them in an instant by a shot straight through the heart. They immediately drop. No stress or knowing they were going to die. Nothing. I then walk over, shed a tear. Which by the way the men that slaughter these animals for you to eat, I don’t believe they care too much about the soul that was just taken. Anyway, I then walk over to this animal and I stare at it. I think of it’s life. I thank it. Mitakue Oyasin. I ask Mother Earth to use this animal (which I am also part of the Mother Earth that will be using this animal), and I ask Father Universe to guide this animal’s soul. I promise you, my animals have a way better burial appreciation than a billion of yours ever will.

Point Two: Simple & Easy, but important. Your farm animals that are bred to live and die for the food table of humans, actually create more methane gas than animals that live freely in the forest. If you continue to support eating this meat from a grocery store, you are funding harmful acts to our atmosphere. You are inducing global warming.

Point Three: Guns. I have never seen a man or woman that has killed an animal treat a gun the way I see city folk treat them when they have never killed an animal. When you have taken a life, you understand the weight a gun has. The true power of a gun is scary. A person that has never killed an animal will view a gun as pretty, they will wave it around, and treat it like an accessory. A person that has killed an animal will appreciate guns, but not wave them around. There is more safety with people who know how they actually work and what it means to actually kill something. For this reason, I actually know quite a lot of hunters who believe in gun reform. I am one of them. I do not believe Joe Shmo should get a gun. I believe every human being that posesses a gun must first go through hunter’s safety. I believe these human beings should be vetted the way that I as a healthcare professional have to constantly have a background check for every job or volunteer service I perfom.

When I do hunt, atleast I know the true weight of a gun, I’m not partaking in global warming, I am appreciating my food where I got it from (like pagan ancestors used to do whether celtic, greek, or native american), I am not partaking in funding a prison for animals.

You, who has never hunted, and only eats your meat from a store. You cannot claim what I just claimed. But, in all your hypocricy, will claim that what I do is wrong. Look in the mirror sweetheart.”