Captain’s Log 6,054
I cannot begin to even express my revulsion for Dr. Palmer and anyone else who hunts game for trophies. That goes against every code of decency I have. Every fiber of my being. My moral compass has no landing point for something like this.
I have heard the rhetoric. I have heard the excuses. I have heard it all. I grew up where people hunt. Members of my own family were big hunters. And it has always disgusted me. I have never eaten wild game, and unless the zombie apocalypse happens, I probably never will.
When we pause to wonder why we have become so violent and uncaring as a species, we have to look no further than Dr. Palmer and those who participate in killing for sport. I don’t care WHAT you kill for sport. It is killing. For the thrill. For the game. As far as I am concerned, making a plan to hide in the woods and kill innocent animals is complete cowardice.
So I do what I can. I don’t eat the animals I love. I don’t shoot them for fun. Killing the crow in the museum last month was one of the worst things I have had to do. Ever. To make sure it won’t happen again, we have devised a netting system to cover the garage door when it’s open for circulation. Hopefully, no more birds in the building.