The Vegetarian Goes Hunting?

The longer I live in rural Utah, the more my internal Redneck vs. Hippie battle slips precarious towards the Redneck.  Most of the time I do my due diligence as a tofu-eating, NPR-donating vegetarian government employee, but I've also lived out in the sticks for four years.  Big tires, country music, and dropping my t's ("mountains" = "moun'ns") are sort of inescapable.  Every day on my drive to work, I go past Hatt's Ranch along the San Rafael River, and now that Dad's visiting with his shotgun and bird dog, I decided to tag along while he went pheasant hunting.  Not sure if the vegetarian gods approve, but ...

Hatt's Ranch is just south of I-70 off SR-24.  It's actually one of the biggest hatcheries out west, and they raise around 500,000 pheasant, chuckars, and quails annually.  Because these birds are artificially raised and not native to the US, you don't need a permit to hunt on ranch property.  Non-members pay a $25 fee, and there's a cost per bird (with a 3 bird minimum.)

Dad and I busted out with our superstylish blaze orange hats and vests.  I tagged after Dad -- half intrigued, half appalled.  He ended up shooting four pheasants.  It was kind of cool to watch Rocko in his element (he went from a goofy puppy into a hunting machine,) and it was neat to watch Dad read the terrain and guess where the birds would be.  Meh.  Obviously, I'm not as vehemently anti-hunting as I used to be, and I definitely see the use in hunting overpopulated animals who no longer have their natural predators.  I also admire when people make a conscious choice about their food  -- I think if you're going to eat meat you should kill, clean, and cook an animal at least once.  And I understand there's a caveman drive to chase and catch your own food.  So if you're safe, responsible, and eat what you kill, more power to you.  It's just not my thing, so I'll be hanging out here on the sidelines with my tofu and patchouli.