This morning as the sun was starting to brighten the day and Mt. Arrowsmith glowed brilliantly, I was standing on the rise by my home enjoying the sun on my face. Coffee in hand, dog chasing the ball. Overhead, a chatty ‘V’ of Canada geese fly towards a neighboring farm. The scene was perfect.
I counted the geese, as I always do, to ensure each had a mate; 16. A few seconds passed until the formation disappeared beneath the tree line… and all hell broke loose. Shotguns. And I knew once again what they were met with.
The farmer invites the local ‘sport’ hunters to come and kill. Two bouts of multiple blasts and four geese returned over my head. All I could do was cry, again. Are people not going to be happy until every last one of these beautiful birds are dead?