I had a similar experience to Maroon's. I got a Daisy BB gun for Christmas when I was 8 or 9. That morning after breakfast, I went out with my father so that he could introduce me to my first gun. Literally the first shot I ever took was aimed at a blue jay which was sitting on a bird feeder, oh, I'd say all of sixty feet from me. I put the shot right through its head. Of course, it isn't like I was thinking: go for the headshot. I can remember being really upset about it, and yet I'd intended to hit the bird. I can put myself in my dad's shoes and imagine him thinking: "Yup, that's enough for today." I actually didn't take to hunting at first, because that feeling of killing something innocent bothered me a great deal. Eventually, I began to understand that the ability to kill something dispassionately is a rite of passage for men. Although it is something that kind of turns up stones in the soil of our hearts, we lose something by not accepting the responsibility. I eventually learned to help slaughter chickens with our next-door neighbor. You learn to trap and kill certain pests that will destroy your home or eat your pets. You learn to kill and appreciate the sacrifice when you hunt. Taking a life is a serious thing, even when it is just a bird. You don't know it intellectually, but even as a kid you feel it viscerally that you've touched on some serious, raw power...power that isn't yours. Like you aren't ready for it yet. It takes serious maturity. I've never killed a human being, but I have often thought about soldiers and how impactful it must be to take a life. >if they kill it, they have to eat it. They also know not to waste meat Bingo. There is a way to respect what you kill. My great grandfather was a farmer, and I remember him saying this about any animal that he'd slaughter. His saying was, "The only thing that goes to waste on a pig is the squeal."