The old adage goes, “Revenge is a dish best served cold,” which roughly translates to, you’re gonna get it when you are least expecting it, sucka.
Wild animals are typically more into instant gratification.
If you f#(% with them, chances are they will f#(% back with you, and do it right now, not a week from Thursday or a month later.
But, sometimes they are just looking for a quick meal.
Clearly, that was the case in a story about a camouflaged coyote hunter who was making wounded rabbit sounds and got attacked by a mountain lion. The quote was,
“It happened extremely fast.”
The guy ended up shooting the lion, but if you ask me, if you pretend to be the meal of a wild animal, well, you might just become the meal of a wild animal.
This is far from an isolated case of “sportsman attracts wild animal; wild animal meets meal.”
One of my favorites is about a scuba diver who freely chooses to go into the ocean without the benefit of a protective shark cage while chumming the waters with fish parts and subsequently the diver dies. Imagine my surprise.
When I first wrote about this true story, I suggested that it was a Darwin Award candidate.
I have previously written about being attacked—or at least gotten threatening glances:
- by Titan triggerfish with their mini-great white shark razor-sharp teeth;
- by bigly angry, wounded goose (yes, by me);
- by a pissed off possum, who woke from playing possum;
- by menacing wild turkeys when I was on a bike ride while adorned in overly tight Spandex bike shorts (they weren’t impressed by my manliness);
- by a really scary rattlesnake at my bare feet (yes, he was only 8 inches long)
- and a muster of massive peacocks (yes, that’s what they’re called – Google it, and yes, you can’t trust that pretty face)
I once tried becoming a vegetarian, but I was never convinced that kale was really an edible food product.
I’m a firm believer in survival of the fittest, so as long as I am fit enough to continue shopping in the meat aisle of Safeway, I’ll continue to enjoy a nice medium-rare, bacon-wrapped, filet mignon.
But please don’t give my home address to that herd of cows looking for me with revenge in their hearts (or udders?).
Apparently, domestication has taught them patience.