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Sarah Lyall, “Tally Ho! A Determined Crew Hunts for Fox Hunters”, The New York Times, February 18, 2007:
For their part, the hunters argue that they have changed their ways and now make every effort to legally ride around after artificially laid scents, a practice that a pro-hunting member of Parliament once said was about as exciting as “kissing one’s sister.”
Any chasing of foxes that may or may not occur, the hunters say, is entirely accidental.
My companion was eagerly inquisitive about hunting in America ; he did not cherish the idea prevalent some twenty years since that the buffalo was to be found on Broadway, nor did he feel that in a chase in America the red man could be hunted; still, his ideas of prairie shooting were about as misty as mine of hunting in England; he had an idea, he said, of taking a little run across Colorado, and thought perhaps three weeks would do it nicely. Perhaps I ought to record of him that he went on his little run, taking six months for the journey, and investing in good Western property.
If a fox or any other animal destroys your poultry, you will justly destroy him if you can. Or if you catch a thief prowling about your house, you will deal with him in the most summary manner. But if you carefully import a thief, and turn him loose in your silver closet for the purpose of shooting him, you ought immediately to be made to choose between the lunatic asylum and the gallows…
The romance of the hunt is undeniable. It is breezy and fresh and exciting, and its horn winds far and sweet in story and song, until it becomes the horn of elfland faintly blowing. Foxes may be a pest that should be exterminated, like bears in a frontier country. But when a country is so advanced in settlement and civilization that prosperous gentlemen dress themselves gayly in scarlet coats and buckskin breeches, and ride
blooded horses, and follow costly packs of hounds across country hunting a frightened fox, the fox is no longer a pest, and the riders are not frontiersmen and honest settlers; they are butchers, not for a lawful purpose, but for pleasure. The law solemnly takes life, but the judge who should take life for sport-!
“Crazy Like a Fox,” December 2003:
From the North West Hunt Saboteurs Association’s “Tactics Booklet,” issued in Manchester, England, to instruct animal-rights activists in effectively sabotaging fox hunts.
A lot can be done to sabotage a fox hunt before it meets. Pre-meet spraying of hedges with Anti-mate or garlic can cover scent. Spraying should be conducted at hound-head height, with particular emphasis on gates. If pre-meet spraying is used, it is strongly recommended that pre-beating take place at the same time. To carry out pre-beating, walk through the wood using whistles, horns, and hunting calls in an imitation of the hunt. Pre-beating may take time to perfect.
Search for blocked earth-tunnels, and remove the blockage. Make a note of the tunnels for future reference. Secure gates in the area; this will cause the hunt considerable inconvenience and delay. In doubtful weather conditions, ring the local papers and tell them that the hunt has been canceled; if it is a pub hunt, ring the pub and tell them also. This can lose the hunt support and create confusion.
At the hunt, if you have contacted the press, hold a banner. Otherwise, it is better to act as a follower, mingling with and chatting to supporters. Spray your hand with Anti-mate and at the hounds, rubbing it into their coats. The hounds are very friendly and love to be made a fuss of. If you are late, scout around the area; country folk gazing across fields, fresh horse droppings on the road, or a large number of cars by the side of the road usually mean the hunt is nearby.
More from Harper’s Magazine:
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Watch Jessica Bruder on MSNBC’s The Cycle
For the past three years my dosimeter had sat silently on a narrow shelf just inside the door of a house in Tokyo, upticking its final digit every twenty-four hours by one or two, the increase never failing — for radiation is the ruthless companion of time. Wherever we are, radiation finds and damages us, at best imperceptibly. During those three years, my American neighbors had lost sight of the accident at Fukushima. In March 2011, a tsunami had killed hundreds, or thousands; yes, they remembered that. Several also recollected the earthquake that caused it, but as for the hydrogen explosion and containment breach at Nuclear Plant No. 1, that must have been fixed by now — for its effluents no longer shone forth from our national news. Meanwhile, my dosimeter increased its figure, one or two digits per day, more or less as it would have in San Francisco — well, a trifle more, actually. And in Tokyo, as in San Francisco, people went about their business, except on Friday nights, when the stretch between the Kasumigaseki and Kokkai-Gijido-mae subway stations — half a dozen blocks of sidewalk, which commenced at an antinuclear tent that had already been on this spot for more than 900 days and ended at the prime minister’s lair — became a dim and feeble carnival of pamphleteers and Fukushima refugees peddling handicrafts.
One Friday evening, the refugees’ half of the sidewalk was demarcated by police barriers, and a line of officers slouched at ease in the street, some with yellow bullhorns hanging from their necks. At the very end of the street, where the National Diet glowed white and strange behind other buildings, a policeman set up a microphone, then deployed a small video camera in the direction of the muscular young people in drums against fascists jackets who now, at six-thirty sharp, began chanting: “We don’t need nuclear energy! Stop nuclear power plants! Stop them, stop them, stop them! No restart! No restart!” The police assumed a stiffer stance; the drumming and chanting were almost uncomfortably loud. Commuters hurried past along the open space between the police and the protesters, staring straight ahead, covering their ears. Finally, a fellow in a shabby sweater appeared, and murmured along with the chants as he rounded the corner. He was the only one who seemed to sympathize; few others reacted at all.
Number of U.S. congressional districts in which trade with China has produced more jobs than it has cost:
Young bilingual children who learned one language first are likelier than monolingual children and bilingual children who learned languages simultaneously to say that a dog adopted by owls will hoot.
An Oklahoma legislative committee voted to defund Advanced Placement U.S. History courses, accusing the curriculum of portraying the United States as “a nation of oppressors and exploiters.”
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