A thoughtful essay by d. Grant DeMan
That's about what it cost the same government to round up stray cougars from fearful-people populated environs and drag them off back into the bush. It's called relocation.
Is something wrong with this picture?
I mean, exporting cougars and importing imitation urine?
The socialist New Democratic Party of B.C. has always been fond of squandering the people's money to "create jobs and keep people off welfare" but in this case I think the matter has got way, way out of hand.
With such an abundance of mountain lions at our disposal, doesn't it seem reasonable to capture a few thirsty ones, give them a drink and have them do their thing, collecting the precious product for wide-spread distribution, even to cougar-impoverished foreign nations like Minnesota which has the road-kill problem in spades. And I know a couple of neighborhood toms who might just leak a few buckets of the smelly stuff for a pittance of cat-chew and a saucer of milk.
A hundred and twenty smackers per ounce, even in Canadian bucks, is a lot to pay for imitation. After all that Old Panther Piss cocktail we imbibed in my bar room days did not even demand that kind of money. What was it? A couple of shots each of Galiano, Bourbon, beer and whatever else we could grasp with our trembling hands. But I'm digressing....
In these politically correct times however, a cougar roundup might be risky. The ever-vigilant SPCA and zillions of animal-rights activists would soon be clamoring for governmental heads, and the nefarious hides anyone else raising big cats for fun and profit. Yep, the protection-brigade would certainly protest our demeaning the dignity of the feline population, played to the hilt by a phalanx of TV crews from Newfoundland to Baha California. "Remove those buckets from beneath the cats!" they would shout. In London, mobs would storm the embassy crying: "Down with Canada. Restore King Kitty to his great Rain Forest!" I can envision them now, beating the wide-brimmed heads of our proud stoic Redcoats with protest placards.
As I see it, the only possible way to solve the problem while co opting the ire of the rebel classes, is to hire some good folks to wander the woods, bucket in one hand, pork liver in the other, attempting to collect the natural product in the normal way: "Here, kitty, kitty..." like many cultures gather honey from wild bees.
A little risk is involved, but think of the lives saved along our beleaguered blacktop. To say nothing of the joys of providing meaningful work for the underprivileged, while allowing them to breathe fresh air and keeping them safe from city-core abominations, thus restoring dignity to their souls. An opportunity to connect and commune with the wonders of Mom Nature, and her kin.
I envision the rise in excitement as documentary cameras follow our woodsman into the lion's den, the tense anticipation as the receptacle is placed with expert precision. Will it be filled? Is the timing right? Will the bait last long enough for the collector to withdraw with verve, panache and finesse? Tune in tomorrow, for the hair-raising conclusion of Hoody's Last Collection! Dum-da- dum!
And it sure beats shelling out a hundred and twenty clams for an ounce of the imitation stuff, don't you think?
Now let's tell the government, shall we?
'Vox Populi', get started! Send in your comments and critique on The Donald Grant DeMan Main Page - - - Email Donald Grant DeMan - - - Possibility Arts - Don & Diane's Website
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