When I killed my first mule deer, I felt deep reverence for the animal. It showed me hunting can be more honest and sustainable than eating factory-farmed meat
“Murderer! You’re a murderer!”
That is what my French mother shouts down the phone line – right after I tell her I had grouse for dinner.
“Grouse?” she gasps.
“Yes,” I say, using my nonchalant voice. “We went hunting and shot two of them. Plump ones. I braised them in a mushroom broth and served them with stewed apples and potato mash.”
She shrieks.
“I can’t believe you killed an animal!”
“Mom! Didn’t you just make lamb tagine?”
