Becoming Idaho-ish

Guns, dead animals, and camouflage are not my personal sources of titillation. These items apparently do excite many of my fellow Idahoans. I discovered this fact upon one infamous jaunt to the grand opening of a new store that shall remain nameless.

My indifference toward guns, dead animals, and camouflage might have prevented me from ever stepping foot in this new nameless store, had I not been invited by other more Idaho-savvy people than I. I returned from this venture, this three-hour venture no less, a wiser and much more Idaho-ish person.

At the entrance of the store, I covered my mouth and nose with my gray, fleece jacket and coughed a few times in order to let the loitering smokers know that smoking is a dangerous pastime. I darted into the store, pleased with myself that I had successfully dodged the risk of contracting secondhand smoke-related cancer.

My self-satisfied disposition abruptly transformed into horror as my Idaho companion excitedly directed my attention to the display in front of me.

"Look at that cute squirrel!"

Indeed there was a cute squirrel, a dead squirrel that had once roamed free in the mountains or the forests or perhaps in somebody's front yard. It was now lifeless and stuffed, along with several other wild animals - deer, chipmunks, prairie dogs, foxes, skunks, elk - all dead. But not just dead. Stuffed and majestically positioned like trophies on a platform that was supposed to represent the natural habitat of these now helpless, lifeless creatures.

I spent three hours amidst the stuffed animal hides and mounted deer heads and wild fish packed like sardines in an aquarium that came nowhere close to the spaciousness of a river.

Yet, I am a hypocrite. I do eat meat, and, although I realize this is cliché, I would never want to have to kill it myself. (I ask that if you are a member of PETA, please refrain from dressing up like an antelope and chaining yourself to my refrigerator.) Even though I indulge from time to time in an occasional slab of meat, I don't want its face staring at me, a painful reminder that another creature's death provided for my sustenance.

One thing my experience in the new nameless store taught me is that if I am going to be a "true Idahoan," instead of simply looking at meat as a source of survival, I need to mount a few antlers on my wall.

Just a hint, I wouldn't buy me a gun anytime soon.