Tonight I had the urge. I think all males must experience it at one time or another. The urge to hunt. I don't believe in hunting for sport, so I fully intended to eat my catchings... even if I have to wait until they have gone through the appropriate processing first. Trusted sources have told me this can take two weeks, so now was the last real chance of mine to do the deed if I wished to eat my catchings.
It rained all day yesterday and today. Lovely weather. Not storms, just a drizzle. An umbrella is perfect. My shoes are wet, but not enough to soak through. The cobblestones around Brussels allow the water to run between the stones while people walk on top. It's perfect.
So off Truman and I went. I had first thought of hunting the week I arrived. Truman and my first walk; I remember it with clarity. I saw a beautiful specimen, almost calling out for the game of the chase and catch. It winked at me, then slid into its den with only the softest of noises. I knew then: there is joy in the sport of hunting. Joy in the idea of fending for one's self. It is an unspoken bond, I think, between hunter and huntee. For indeed the huntee was made to be hunted. Made to serve its purpose; made to feed the human race.
A few minutes walk and we were in a small field ripe with so many specimens. Catching 10 was no difficult task, but I wanted to make it to 15. Why not? This proved to be a bit harder. The field was smaller than I thought, and other sorts of game claimed their own stake. Truman and I moved on. My eyes scanning the bushes and tall grass, Truman's nose sniffing for all it was worth. Poor silly dog. He never did get the hang of the hunt.
Several specimens were too small, and I had to let them retain their freedom for a time. Perhaps by the end of the season they will be big enough, but for now they must nourish themselves, grow, and survive.
Five more specimens and I was finished. Truman was sad that the hunt was over, but this was more than enough. I brought their cold bodies back to the apartment wrapped in plastic and began the washing and packaging process. It was a gruesome process and not at all to my liking, but it must be done. My task this evening was not to prepare them to eat but to preserve them until later.
I will perhaps show pictures later. Tonight I am finished. By bed beckons, and tomorrow is full already.