I consider myself a
country boy, having been raised for the first fifteen years of my life in - for want of a better phrase - a
white trash trailer park located in a
community known as
Wrights Corners New York.
It was what is called an
incorporated township, and boasted a
population of about forty people. Wow!
Obviously, everyone knew everyone elses
business; who was
drinking too much, what families were in
debt or
fighting, who was getting
separated, and on and on and on. I think being
reared in a such an
incestuous place like that is the reason why I value my
privacy so much now, prefering to live
anonymously in large
cities.
Growing up in the country well all had
guns and, being just
kids, went through our periods of
shooting at anything and everything, including, or course, almost every kind of
animal that was
unlucky enough to cross our paths.
Like most
normal kids, I quickly grew out of this phase, developing a great deal of
respect for animals and
life of all kind. And even though I shot lots of
squirrels and such, and I never appreciated the fine art of
trapping like some of the kids I grew up with.
Lots of
folks in the country hunted to live, and most in my
area preferred to trap since it actually was a lot cheaper and more effective than
hiking around carrying a
heavy rifle. They would simply leave traps scattered around, typically attached to a nearby
tree or
log, and return to
retrieve their
prey a few days later.
But I always
suspected that it was an unnecessarily
cruel practice.
On some level I could
rationalize my
behavior when shooting a
bird - after all, it
died quickly and relatively
painlessly. But it seemed to me that trapped animals would suffer, both
physically from the pain of the traps
jaws, and, no doubt,
psychologically from being held against their
will.
I was
brave enough once to raise this point with my
family, and was soundly
ridiculed for my
thoughfulness. I even went so far as to
opine that many trapped animals were
smart enough to
understand their predicament; that they
knew when the
man returned
they would die.
This wasn't a
popular theory and after a short time I learned to keep such
heretical ideas to myself.
My
parents ended up getting
divorced, so
mother,
brother and
mutant moved to
Lockport New York; a teeming
metropolis of about 20,000 people.
I eventually ended up moving to
Buffalo to attend
University (Math and Computer Science!), and later relocated to
New York City.
In New York I lived in what's The
Lower East Side, working as a
software engineer, while making
art and running an art
gallery on the side.
My
girlfriend and I at the time liked
games of the
sexual variety
(surprise, surprise, I still do!), and we particularly enjoyed a little
BDSM.
To assist us we had lots of little
toys, including, of course, multiple restraints featuring several pairs of wonderfully shiny metal
handcuffs.
It was one of these pairs of handcuffs that finally confirmed my suspicion about the cruelty of certain practices, and earned me the knickname
Urban Trapper.
One day my girlfriend and I were headed to work and stopped on a
corner to
kiss and
hug and generally take a long long time to tell each other
have a nice day!
While we talked about this and that I was poking at a lump in my coat pockets and eventually produced a pair of handcuffs that I
forgot I was carrying. We both laughed, continued talking and enjoyed the friendly
risque comments of bypassers who noticed the handcuffs.
Idly, I locked one of the
bracelets on the
fence behind us. We finished our
kissing and were about to part company when I realized that
I didn't have the key! Damn!
We were both late so decided there was nothing else we could do but return in the evening.
After all, nobody could
steal them since them since they were locked to a fence, and who would bother? They were just a pair of fifty
dollar handcuffs, not a three hundred dollar
bicycle; they'd be there all right.
That night I got home first, grabbed the key and headed back to the fence where we'd left the handcuffs.
Imagine my
surprise when I saw someone wearing my handcuffs on one wrist, the other bracelet still
attached to the fence! Holy shit!
I'D CAUGHT SOMETHING!
He must have been as
dumb as a
barn door to try to fit the open end of the bracelet on his wrist. And he was a
big ugly son of a bitch too,
really pissed off,
screaming and
yelling and pulling as hard as he could on the handcuff that was still locked to the fence. But it wouldn't give at all, and he just got himself worked up more and more as time went on.
I stood across the
street and watched with a bunch of other people; nobody wanted to get close to that guy since he was lashing out like
crazy. Eventually someone called
911 and New Yorks
Emergency Services cut him free.
I told my girlfriend what happened and she couldn't stop laughing!
Being the consumate New Yorker she had always considered me a
hick of sorts, and now she had proof! Of course she told all our friends about Mutant,
The Urban Trapper. They all got a good laugh out of it, and I still get this event thrown back at me even now, some fifteen years later.
But I never could
honestly laugh with anyone about it.
I'd always think about those animals, deep out in the woods, in the dark or in the light, in the cold or in the warmth, restrained against their will. And I bet they fought and struggled just as hard and probably even harder than the guy I trapped did.
Except
he knew that when man came he'd be released. He wouldn't die.