I received another "fan" letter yesterday. Terry Gregg of Joplin, MO writes: "Fuckface, do you eat all of those beautiful ducks you murder? You and your dog make me sick. I hate the way you too (sic) hide in the brushes(sic) and murder God's beautiful creatures."
While I don't feel compelled to write directly to Terry, I would like to point out that I am often sickened when shooting wild ducks. They're so wonderful and mysterious (and also, it seems, gullible) that it's a shame to kill them. I can shoot pheasants all day. I can whack halibut and salmon on the head with no thought whatsoever. But ducks are different. They almost lend themselves to art.
But anyway. I shot a drake teal this year and, after a prolonged internal debate, I decided not to mount it. Instead I fried it lightly in bread crumbs. I put it atop a salad of cilantro, green onions, and what-have-you.Here are the results. So Terry from Joplin, as you eat you industrial steak--tossing the obvious fat to your aged, and indifferent tabby--think about what you're missing.
While I don't feel compelled to write directly to Terry, I would like to point out that I am often sickened when shooting wild ducks. They're so wonderful and mysterious (and also, it seems, gullible) that it's a shame to kill them. I can shoot pheasants all day. I can whack halibut and salmon on the head with no thought whatsoever. But ducks are different. They almost lend themselves to art.
But anyway. I shot a drake teal this year and, after a prolonged internal debate, I decided not to mount it. Instead I fried it lightly in bread crumbs. I put it atop a salad of cilantro, green onions, and what-have-you.Here are the results. So Terry from Joplin, as you eat you industrial steak--tossing the obvious fat to your aged, and indifferent tabby--think about what you're missing.
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