By Jonathon David Hawkins
"Well, I guess I'm just saying you can't go around killing willy-nilly, that's all."
His defensive tone followed her into the kitchen where she went to answer the shrill call of the teakettle. She smiled a bit at that tiniest hint of a pleading not, knowing that he was just a little bit afraid of disappointing her. He was a pretty confident guy—good looking and smart—but they were early enough in their courtship that he felt the need to impress her at least a little.
As she pulled down mugs and the canister of tea she toyed with the idea of giving him her pink "World's Greatest Sister" mug. Thinking that might be a bit too much teasing at this moment, she passed it over and chose matching green mugs instead. The two of them were not old flames, exactly, but they had met again at their ten-year reunion and hit it off. They had talked over the phone several times (long distance) and he had driven four hours from the Chicago suburbs to spend the weekend with her. No strings attached, of course.
After sharing a few too many glasses of wine over dinner, the subject of hunting had come up. The discussion had gotten heated, but had been dropped before it could go too far. Neither had wanted to spoil what had the potential to be a very good thing. The debate had cropped up again today, but in a calmer tone. The tea was as much to break the tension that had built as to satisfy thirst. She scooped three spoons of tea into each mug and stirred in the hot water. Steam flavored with orange and spice rose up to meet her appreciative nose. Grabbing a mug in each hand, she returned to the living room where he was patiently waiting for her response
"I'm not talking about cutting loose with an assault rifle at anything and everything that moves," she retorted with mock sternness, giving him a raised eyebrow along with his mug. "It's called selective harvesting."
"But my point is that I'm not sure we have a right to do any harvesting," he entreated before taking a sip. "Mmm. This is good! What did you say this was?"
"Russian tea," she answered, taking a sip herself. Still a bit too hot for her liking. "An ancient and secret family recipe."
"Which supermarket did you get it at?" The smile in his eyes was clearly dubious.
"A bit more to it than that… But not much, I admit," she laughed. "Equal parts Lipton's iced tea mix and Tang powder. Cheap and easy."
"But tasty," he conceded before taking another sip. "Now, back to the topic at hand."
She sighed. "I see your point. It's a bit too P.C. for my tastes and I obviously don't agree with it, but I do admit to seeing it at least. Good enough?"
He nodded. "For now."
"Good. Then can I make my point?"
"Only fair."
"Very gentleman-like of you."
"Mama raised me right, what can I say?"
"In a few minutes, that you admit I'm right," she offered and then pressed on before he could object. "Have you noticed that we flip-flop the stereotypes? Usually it's the peace-loving woman out to convince the savage man with blood on his mind that he's wrong. And, speaking of your mother, Freudians would probably claim that most of the time she's the reason that the guys do it."
"How about you leave my mom out of this and I won't bring up your dad?"
"May he rest in peace. Deal. Anywho, I propose that we not only have the right to hunt, but that we have the duty to perform selective harvesting."
His doubt was self-evident on his face and in his voice. "And just how do we civilized, unsavage, humans come by this obligation?"
"Because we're the only ones that can remedy the situation," she said earnestly. "Right now overpopulation is their biggest problem."
"Oh, come on. I think that's an exaggeration. I mean, there are other problems they face…"
"I didn't say it was their only problem, did I? Only that it was their biggest." She paused and glanced out the window. "Look, it's a beautiful night out. Would you like to continue our little debate outside?"
"I don't know…"
"Come on, there's plenty of privacy out here. No one'll bother us. We can take our tea with us." She could see he was wavering and pressed the point. "Besides, transplanted country boys like you don't get up to these Wisconsin backwoods often enough to pass up a walk down a country lane."
He smiled his concession and followed her, but wasn't quite ready to let it go without a jab: "Yes, nothing like a nighttime stroll in the land of Ed Gein and Jeffrey Dahmer."
"Not funny, mister," she shot at him as she opened the closet. "Would you like to borrow a coat?" she asked with doe-eyed innocence. "Blaze orange or camo, perhaps?"
"No thank you. You haven't made a hunting convert out of me yet," he retorted, reaching for his leather jacket.
She paused for a moment before handing the coat over to him. She looked him thoughtfully in the eye. "It's not the same thing at all, you know."
"What?"
"Gein, Dahmer. The whole sicko-psycho killer thing. That's not what I'm talking about."
He plucked the black leather coat lightly from her grip and shrugged it on. "Then tell me how."
She seized the opportunity his apparel afforded her. "I've noticed your opposition to bloodletting does have its limits," she prodded.
"What?" He looked at her quizzically for a moment. "Oh. You mean my jacket?"
"Yep," she nodded, "and the leather boots you're wearing, too. You seemed to enjoy the steak last night, I might add."
"That's just a little bit different, don't you think?" he asked, opening the front door for her.
"Thank you kindly, good sir," she curtsied, passing through the door ahead of him. "And the difference isn't as great as you seem to think." The night air was pleasant, breezes carrying the scent of burning leaves to them from one of the neighbors somewhere down the lane. "In fact, cows back up my argument quite well."
"In what way?"
"Cattle populations are strictly controlled. Farmers don't allow numbers to outstrip feed supply, and they don't allow the density of the herds to increase to the point that rampant disease becomes a problem."
He didn't look convinced. "Where's the connection with your little hunting expeditions?"
"It's all about population control. They don't have any natural predators left. We've killed them all off—or pushed them so far off into the wilderness as to remove them from the equation. Mother Nature can't do the job herself anymore: not with natural disasters, not with plagues. She needs our help."
"I don't know…"
"On your drive from Chicago, how many did you see that had died in automobile collisions alone?"
He shrugged in admission. "At least a couple."
They walked on in thoughtful silence for a good while after that, sipping their cooled tea. He tossed back the last, cold swallow and let the mug dangle from one finger. She had been right about their privacy on this road. Though they passed a few houses, and even a few dog walkers, no one stopped to talk with them or even greet them beyond an impersonal nod.
"Friendly place," he observed.
"I mainly keep to myself," she explained. "They don't really know me all that well."
They walked almost a quarter mile more before he broke the silence again. "So," he began, "if I were to go on a hunt some day, would you recommend I come back here for it?" He was sounding more thoughtful than dubious now. Not convinced yet, she thought, but almost there.
"No. For your first time, at least, you should probably hunt somewhere closer to home. You'll be more comfortable that way. More relaxed." She glanced sideways at him. "Besides," she said with a half-grin, "I'm a bit territorial and there isn't that much prey to go around out here."
"Makes sense," he agreed. "I don't own a gun, you know. Or any other weapons."
"You can borrow something of mine at first. I'll even come out with you." She glanced at him again, hopefully this time. "If you want me to."
"Really?"
"Sure. Why not?" she shrugged, smiling over at him.
"That'd be nice, I think. You wouldn't mind the drive?"
"Nah. It's good to get out of here every once in a while. Hunt somewhere new."
"Even if it's Chicago?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
She grinned. "Even then. Besides, it'll offer you some great opportunities with low risk. We'll start you off on bag ladies and winos. I can help you avoid rookie mistakes on your first kills, avoid attracting too much attention. You can move on to more challenging prey later."
"Sounds good," he said, nodding slowly. "Ready to head back?"
She nodded and, arm in arm, they turned toward home, deep in planning.