"I'm going with your grandfather on a bear hunt, mostly because I want to ride the horses around."

In my household, this isn't an entirely unexpected beginning to a conversation. My mother is a woman who encapsulates the idea of eccentricity. This quality has added an air of unpredictability to my life, one that I have treasured. This is a woman who, when the hens reached an age where they no longer laid eggs, was only too happy to try and cut their heads off with a hatchet and cook them for dinner, fondly referring to the meal as "Mr. Clucky." She interspersed my childhood, and those of my two younger brothers, with many adventures big and small. She was fond of dropping us off on small uninhabited islands, hoping to emulate the popular reality series "Survivor." The discovery of a nearly complete grizzly bear skeleton on one such occasion was greeted by enthusiasm from her, and terror from myself. The bones are now (possibly illegally) displayed on our front porch, where she may look at them and grin to herself, muttering "Build-a-Bear" under her breath and laughing at a joke made ten years previously.

So it was with no general surprise that I heard this statement. Rather, I found myself quite disappointed. My mother had always been a hunter, an interest she has passed to my youngest brother. Guns and shooting have never had any appeal for me, no matter the circumstances. My feelings on conservation and animal activism only enhanced this desire to separate myself from these deadly weapons. I never tried to stop her, and even thrilled in the occasional acquisition of a long pheasant feather after my mother's return from a successful outing, and after a time, I had ceased to be bothered. The meat brought home was always well used - whether it be fowl or cervine. My mother had used the meats in just about every possible way, including a twist on spaghetti with antelope meat which was fondly referred to as "Spaghettalope." If one eats what they kill, I simply can't find myself particularly outraged.

But what about the cases where the meat isn't consumed? This becomes, in my opinion, an entirely different matter. In the case of predators such as wolves and bears, the carcass is often discarded after the animal is skinned. So, hoping to perhaps gently persuade my mother against such a hunt, I asked a simple question of her: "Can you eat that?"

Her response was more vehement than I expected. She argued that while she had no intention of eating the bear (and likely would be unsuccessful in the hunt), killing a black bear in North America was akin to shooting a deer - they were all just "forest cows." I pointed out that, according to the Endangered Species Act, American black bears were listed as "threatened", with their population currently around 600,000. Now, unfortunately for my argument, I had taken my mother to Northwest Trek just earlier this week where we had read a sign stating that there was just one grizzly bear for every 120,000 black bears in North America. In comparison, the black bears seem not only stable but rather prolific. My own animal conservation trip had come back to bite me. But, she had a point. In the last decade or so, American black bears have become a nuisance animal. They're infamous for their increasing presence near human establishments where they root through garbage cans, often creating a significant mess wherever they pass. These facts begged the question, is it ethical to hunt the black bear?

The American black bear isn't an elephant or a tiger facing devastating poaching. I'm not trying to make that argument. But it is a domino, one that raises a question of ultimate consequences. Will my mother and grandfather's likely unsuccessful hunt make a significant difference? No, not in any reasonable way. Yet certainly they aren't the first, nor the last, to conceive of such a hunt. They certainly aren't the only ones that see the amusement in such a trip. I cannot stop my family, this I understand and accept. I can simply pose a question. When you stand before your mounted head, or enjoy the feeling of a new fur rug below your toes - what will you say to yourself?

Perhaps with pride, you'll say "Yes, I killed this. I am man." Congratulations, I say to you. You've filled your plate, now clear it. But when you look down at that fresh available bear meat, we'll both be asking the same question: Can you really eat that?