A shocking reversal

Even if you don't count dedicated Trump haters, the number of people who love this picture has to be abysmally low, don't you think? The boys are so money-bloated they can, on their father's dime, fly anywhere in the world and put their wheels down for no good reason other than death. They can hire the most experienced guides, equip themselves with the finest firepower, and know, going into the bush, that they'll come out, not just with an animal, but a trophy. 

So let's just start here: this photo generates hate created, for some, from envy. These boys--they're not "boys," but it's easier to call them that--are living the American Dream. They made it--or their father did, or his father before him. They've got planes and yachts and thirteen homes in America's posh-est neighborhoods. They're the super-rich.

Goes without saying that the animal lovers hate it. The mere idea of rich kids reveling in having killed an animal as beautiful as this leopard is not just disgusting but despicable. Thousands, I'm sure, would much rather see the cat alive than the boys. In America today, far more people hate the NRA than love it. Some would, without a doubt, call this picture horrifying, obscene. 

Then there's those who forward the pro-life argument. The excitement written all over the boys' faces results from one hideous fact: death. They came to Africa with the express purpose to kill. That's all. If that's not true, then why didn't they simply pack a Nikon with some super-expensive lens and shoot photographs? It's not the hunt they loved; don't give me that. It's the kill, the rush of power that moves from the trigger-finger directly into the heart.

It's not difficult to hate this picture. In all likelihood, it would have been better for the boys if the American public hadn't seen it. It may well be good for the vaunted "Trump brand," but millions, world-wide, are sickened.

And millions found the boys' daddy's ruling, last week, just as awful, the ruling allowing elephant and lion trophies to be imported from Africa again, a ruling that ended Obama-era policies prohibiting the importation of endangered animals. Trump, it seems, won't be truly happy until he gets his picture taken with a dead Obama, which will never happen. 

For a couple of days, it was impossible not to separate that ruling from this picture. Daddy acted because the boys want to go back to Africa. They need trophy elephants for their man-caves. Daddy thought it would be a good idea to get them out of the way for a while; after all, Junior's in trouble with special counsel Mueller. Send them both out to the veldt. 

But then something happened that defies our year-long understanding of the new President. He reversed the order. Just like that, the man who doubles down more naturally than he breaths, did an about face, claiming the issue needs to be studied. Amazing.

Last night, our granddaughter left out place and just about hit a deer in the gravel road to the highway. It saddens me, even sickens me, to see the number of deer killed every week on highways right around here, dozens of them; but there are more white-tailed deer in Iowa today than there when the Sauk and Fox and the Iowas were the only real Hawkeyes. They're everywhere.

I'd much rather have hunters harvest the extras than see those dozens of broken bodies in the ditches all around. I'm not anti-hunting. If reputable game managers determine that herds of elephants and leopards throughout southern Africa will be more healthy if there are fewer animals, then send in the hunters. I don't trust Trump's environmentalists, if it can be said that he has them. But I'll give them the opportunity to make their case.

I don't know how it happened, how President Trump turned around and halted what he'd just a few days earlier proclaimed. It's just not the Trump brand.

But I like it.