These sandhill cranes were crossing the street in front of the post office, strolling along looking good. Their slightly larger cousins, the whooping cranes, were almost extinct until a heroic effort was made to re-establish them in the wild. This has involved volunteers dressing in bird suits to hand feed the babies and guiding them in light craft from Wisconsin to Florida every year so they can learn to migrate. After a dozen years, many of them are making the trip on their own.
Some sandhills also migrate, while some just stay in Florida. The migrating ones had better learn to detour around Kentucky. That state has recently legalized these birds as fair game for hunting. I never knew the people of Kentucky were that hungry. I hope our human tourists will also shun Kentucky and avoid spending a dime there.
I know some otherwise normal people who defend hunting as "good sport," even though the game is unarmed. They also justify hunting as helping nature, by getting rid of the weaker of the species. I have a mental image of Elmer Fudd and his friends squatting in the woods, waiting for the weak prey to come in range. "No, Bugs! That magnificent buck looks too strong. If we wait a few hours, we can get a sickly one." Oh, please.
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