25 March 2006


Last time I was out walking the dyke with my Hammer I saw something I have hesitated to write about. As we began our walk a farmer's young son came around the corner of the barn they stuff their cows into driving a small front end loader. The bucket of the loader was raised to its limit. Attached with a rope by its ankles a dead cow swung like Saddam Hussein will soon in Iraq.

It was not a pretty sight. I first averted my eyes but found myself soon returning my gaze at the spectacle. The young man had a look on his face that told me he had strapped a cow like that to his loader bucket many, many times and with about as much concern I express when I take the garbage to the curb.

The business of food production goes on for the most part while our eyes are averted from the process. Certain boring old Beatles are presently trying to get us to look at the seal hunt up 'round Newfoundland. I am not opposed to sealing. They do not kill the babies any more, the hunters wait until they are teenagers. I eat seal oil capsules. They are supposed to be good for me. Support your local seal hunter is what I say just so long as there are plenty, and I mean plenty, of seals about.

I do not support the trophy hunting of grizzlies or any other animal - that is a practice that has to motherfucking stop. That shit is no different from displaying the head of your enemy on a post in the front yard.

The farmer's dog ambled over as we watched the cow dangle and then be lowered to the ground. The dog was a big furry male I bet weighed 140 pounds. He and the Hammer were happy to meet and had a little tussle in the grass.

The full spectrum of life and death goes on all year round down on the farm.

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