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Gilbert OskabooseLet it go, please....

by Gilbert Oskaboose

I personally know native hunters who brag of riddling 4 or 5 giant bull moose with bullets every year and leaving them to die because they couldn't track an elephant with bleeding piles through 5 inches of fresh snow, even if they were hanging onto it's tail.

I personally know of native hunters who brag that they haven't sighted in their rifles in 25 years because it's always "magically right on." I know of others who "walk" their low trajectory bullets across a marsh or pond and hopefully into some part of a moose's body, usually a hoof or nose.

I've been less that a mile from a native hunter, heard 9 shots in a row and came back to be told that "I got the bugger with one clean shot" and that's despite the sounds and nine fresh empty cases lying on the ground nearby. Combine those idiots with the legions of white hunters who annually wound and lose moose and you have an annual moose loss that must make road kill look like a Sunday picnic. Hunters are traditionally liars. They lie about the condition of their rifles. They lie about the accuracy of their rifles, they lie about their own shooting abilities and they sure as hell lie about the number of moose they have wounded and lost.

Why don't we stop slaughtering moose in this horrendous manner. Why don't we stop talking the talk about respecting all living things and start walking the walk, start believing in and acting out the cultural bullshit we lay on anyone stupid enough to listen to us? Yeah, Indians are just as bad and stupid as anyone else. Big surprise to you, eh Muttface?

Why did we need to go on slaughtering these magnificent animals. Most of us don't live off the land anymore. Why do we continue the slaughter? If you need meat then buy a pound of bologna or a can of Klick and knock yourself out. If you think bushwhacking an animal at 200 yards with a modern rifle that can put bullets into the same hole at that range makes your dick any longer or your cajones any heavier, grow up and get a life.

This rant is not aimed at the northern people who still live off the land. I understand your need to live with the land and I respect that. These words are aimed at the vast majority of southern Indians who no longer need to kill any damn thing that moves and all the white folks who apparently do. Isn't about time we grew up and left this bullshit to our sad and sorry pasts?

Jeez, human beings are supposed to become more civilized with the passage of time. Do we really need to stand off at 200 yards and blow the lungs out of another living creature? Do we really need to go fishing and yank a lake trout from the depths, just to watch it's eyes pop out and it's stomach come out of it's mouth from the rapid change in depth pressure? Who the hell are we calling animals here?

What about the assholes who use living crows and woodchucks simply as target practice? Who are the real victims and the real animals?

It doesn't even make any sense at all. Would a farmer walk out and kill his prize bulls every year? Why do we do it every year with the moose and deer populations? Why would anyone want to ride around town with a rotting moose calf's head on the hood of their car. Does that make them feel like a real man? Jeez, get real. Get a life!

That's all I have to say on this subject. Have always felt the need to puke on this village that I live in and now is as good a time as any.


Gilbert Oskaboose was a retired Ojibway journalist who wrote a weekly column here on FirstNations.com. He passed away in 2008.

Gib was a residential school survivor. During his retirement, Gib was engaged in a class action law suit against the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) and the federal Department of Indian Affairs for their respective contributions to a residential school lost childhood.

As Gib would say, "Write on, young native writer, write on...." His hope is that young writers will pick up their pens and use their voice to comment and describe the world we live in.

The pen has been now been passed to you, the next generation.

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