Stalking Dr. Palmer

I received a BB rifle the Christmas I was 11.

My father showed me how to load it and look through the sight to target my prey.

I stepped outside, took aim at a bird perched on a tree branch, and pulled the trigger. The bird toppled to the ground.

Seeing that dead bird gave me no pleasure, no sense of triumph, no sense of accomplishment. I never picked up that gun again.

There are many things whose appeal I cannot begin to fathom  – among them kale and Hillary Clinton – but trophy hunting supersedes them all. I've visited game reserves in South Africa and Namibia, where I was able to observe elephants, lions, leopard, rhinos and other endangered species in their natural habitats. It was – and for once I'm using the word properly – awesome. And humbling. As close to magic as it gets here on earth. One of the most profound experiences of my life, right up there with witnessing the births of my children. So I have been following with interest the saga of Walter Palmer, the Minnesota dentist who killed Cecil the Lion in Zimbabwe.

Palmer, who fancies himself a big game hunter, paid $50,000 for a permit he asserts he believed gave him license to kill Cecil, a giant lion beloved by the locals. Palmer's guides lured Cecil out of the sanctuary where he lived, enabling Palmer to wound him with an arrow, but Cecil got away. Palmer and crew then stalked Cecil for two days before shooting him, after which they posed giddily with his carcass for the camera, then skinned him and cut off his head to hang as a trophy in one of Palmer’s houses. One of those houses is located a few miles down the road on Marco Island, Florida. I know this because a local TV station posted the address on Facebook to make it easy for protesters to find. Meanwhile, up in Minnesota, people have left plush lions on the front steps of Palmer's dental office to register their disgust.

Palmer has gone into hiding. He has been vilified by the press and by social media users. He has received death threats. Jimmy Kimmel cried while talking about Cecil. Palmer has had to hire a PR agency to deal with the damage to his reputation and his dental practice which, if I were a betting man, I’d have to guess is pretty much down the toilet. He will be lucky if he can get a job at one of those teeth whitening kiosks in the mall after this.

Now that he’s being stalked himself, perhaps Palmer is better able to understand how Cecil must have felt during those two days before he was finally put out of his misery.

Hunting for something you’re going to eat is one thing. Hunting because you want a stuffed head hanging above your fireplace to show the world you've got a big dick or whatever it is that trophy hunters feel compelled to prove, is something else.

All this outrage over Cecil's slaughter has made that perfectly clear to other Walter Palmers who, if they have any sense, will think twice before they fly off to Africa to kill lions, elephants and other endangered species.