Part of the process

by RAF KATIGBAK

The card came in the mail today. On the back was the usual place for a signature. On the front, silver-tipped embossed letters with my name, the date I was born and the new seven-digit number that identifies me to yet another faceless organization. Above my birth date, so small you’d almost miss it, was the letter “F.” I flipped the card over and written in French below the signature box was the following:

“This card attests that the holder has been recognized eligible to procure the permits required for the activities in function of the following codes:

A– Chasse avec arc ou arbalète
B– Chasse avec arbalète”
And finally:
“F– Chasse avec arme à feu”

This was it. I was now officially a hunter. I have joined the ranks of my Canadian forefathers who built this country tracking noble beasts, eating their flesh and warming themselves with their pelts. I could finally be one with nature like the natives who respected and used the land responsibly and…Oh God, who am I kidding? I just wanted to shoot something.

Before you get your American Apparel Printed Spandex Jersey Invisi-Thongs in a bunch, let me explain. I love animals. I grew up in a tender suburban menagerie of dogs, cats, hamsters, guinea pigs and a pet rat for whom I gave a 15-minute eulogy in my backyard when I was 13.

Thing is, I also like to eat animals. Like most Filipinos, I was raised on meat (well, if you consider corned beef hash, spam and Vienna sausage “meat”) and while I enjoy a good vegan BLT, there’s nothing like a big honking steak and fries come dinnertime. I’m an unapologetic carnivore. Do I think the meat industry is completely cruel, scary and effed up? Yes. Do I try to buy organic, humanely treated meat when I go to the grocery store? Yes, when I can afford it. Do I think it’s hypocritical to get all misty-eyed when I get near a baby goat at the petting zoo in the mall next door and immediately go to my fave Caribbean joint and order a steaming goat roti? Yes. And that’s why I want to hunt.

Too many people don’t want to think about where their food comes from. I want to become part of the process. Perhaps in hunting I’d learn to respect my food and what it means to take a life to sustain yourself. Or maybe I’d just shit my pants and turn vegan, but damn it if I wasn’t going to find out.

So I became a hunter. Or at least, I went through all the steps to become one. I learned how to handle a rifle safely in the Non-Restricted Firearm Safety course and, when it came to the part on how to eviscerate an animal during the Hunting With Firearms course, I managed to choke down the Tim Horton’s grilled chicken sandwich that threatened to come up. The final step was applying for my hunting rifle licence in person, at the police station.

I met with sergeant Daniel Thiffault, who, after looking at my paperwork, said, “I’m not sure about this.” I asked if my paperwork was wrong. “No, but…well, frankly I just don’t understand how you could kill an animal for no reason.” I explained I wanted to become part of the process and the words sounded really stupid coming out. “You are going to kill a deer just to feel what it’s like to kill? A deer that is just living freely in the wild? Have you seen one and spent time with one? They are absolutely amazing.”

I asked if he ate meat. He said of course, “But these animals were raised for us to eat. Let me tell you something, have you ever heard of Leave No Trace? It’s an organization dedicated to enjoying nature while controlling our impact on it. Let me show you the Web site…” He proceeded to give me a 30-minute dissertation on how we must live in harmony with the world. Now understand, the last person I thought I would be debating the merits of hunting with is someone with a loaded handgun strapped to his waist. I asked if he’d ever shot someone. “No, but I have no problems shooting someone who is going to kill someone else. I’ve raised my weapon to stop junkies from stabbing me with AIDS needles, and criminals who were armed, but thankfully they made the right choice.”

Then he paused for a moment and lowered his eyes solemnly: “I did kill a porcupine once when I was a kid. He was eating the drywall at our country house. I felt so terrible, and I never killed anything again.”

RIFF-RAFF@SYMPATICO.CA