I don’t know how other writers come up with ideas for stories, but sometimes, one just looks me right in the eye… literally. 

My son Darren and I were fishing a bass tournament on Lake Monroe the first weekend in October, and we were catching lots of fish. Unfortunately, most were small bass—or not bass at all! Darren hooked what felt like a really good bass to help finish out our limit! Unfortunately, it was a really nice channel catfish—fun, but disappointing. 

We had three nice keepers in the livewell but couldn’t finish with the additional two we needed for a 5-fish limit. We had caught a plethora of undersized largemouths and spotted bass and a” plethora and a half” of warmouth sunfish. We got to the point we didn’t even mention them as we landed, unhooked, and tossed them unceremoniously back into the water. 

Then, for no particular reason, I started adding to the process by unhooking one, looking into the fish’s eyes, and saying, “Thanks, buddy,” as I dropped it gently back into the lake. Why, you might ask, would I do such a thing with a “no account fish?” 

I started doing the same thing with undersized bass and the two keepers I had put into the livewell. Late that night, as I fell into bed, I started wondering about why I started such odd behavior; even for me, whose known for somewhat odd behavior, this was above and beyond! 

As I thought back through my years of fishing, I realized that my appreciation of all fish started one evening when my dad and I were sitting on the bank of Sugar Creek in central Indiana, bobber fishing for whatever would bite. I was probably about 5 years old at the time. A fella just a few yards down the bank from us caught a small carp, unhooked it, and smashed it against a tree before muttering some words I wasn’t familiar with. He then tossed it back into the water. 

After the man had moved down the bank, I asked dad why had that man killed that little fish. Dad replied that the man killed the fish because he considered it trash. My young mind considered that event for some time. I thought about my trips with dad to Raccoon Creek where we caught sunfish, goggle eye (rock bass), black bass, chubs, and shiners. We eased the small bass, shiners, and chubs back into the water, treating them all gently as we did so. Dad seemed to have a reverence for all of those fish, both keepers and non-keepers due to size or species. 

Years later, I took my 9-year-old sister Kathy fishing for the first time. I had a small jon boat and we fished with live worms for anything that would bite. I put keepers onto a stringer to take home to eat. Kathy seemed ok with that, but pretty soon I started hearing sad words from her lips like, “Oh no, there goes Henry. Oh no, there goes Linda. And oh no, there goes Bobby.”

It took me a few minutes to realize that she was naming the worms and was sad when each one ended up on a hook! The place in her heart for slimy, wiggly “beasts” was quite a bit bigger than mine!

We have always had dogs in our family, but our miniature Jack Russell “Rusty” is the most verbal and most affectionate that has ever been a part of our family. Maybe that has to do with my newfound appreciation for nature’s “beasts,” and it has carried over to my affection and appreciation for all finned creatures, whether keepers or not. So now any fish I catch, I look it in the eye and gently whisper,” Thanks buddy.” Darren doesn’t hear my greetings, or if he does, he simply dismisses them as an old man’s mutterings.

I, like most anglers I know, consider warmouth as trash fish. I’m sure that bass eat them—especially bigger bass. So now, when I catch a warmouth, I slip it out of the water, thank it for our minute together, and ease it back into the water. I know it will probably end up as food for a larger fish, and that that’s the way the creator planned. But I appreciated our moments together and basically wished it well. 

I grew up hunting and have killed my share of squirrels and rabbits. I don’t remember ever feeling a connection on an emotional level as I slipped them into the game pocket of my hunting vest. I hunted deer and felt no sense of emotional pain for killing any animals that I would eat. 

I don’t hunt any more, but Darren and my grandson Reece still hunt squirrels and deer in the woods behind our houses. I shot at the last deer I saw in our woods. It screamed and kept running. I knew that I had only grazed it, but my heart for hunting sort of died after that. I still walk into our woods during the first day of deer gun season. Darren leaves me at the base of a tree that has a deer stand ready for me to use. I am to climb the tree before daylight and get set to hunt. 

I decided instead to just sit at the base of the tree and watch the woods wake up. I saw and heard squirrels and lots of birds I knew by both markings and calls. I was well dressed and decided to just sit and listen. Two hours later, I heard Darren walking toward me, signifying that the hunt was over. So, I jumped up so that he couldn’t see me until he got around the tree and assumed that I had just climbed down. I never told him that I had dozed off with my back against the tree, lulled into a nap by the peaceful bird calls I heard from various parts of the woods. I had a perfectly delightful morning and did my part to eat more than my share of the Thanksgiving dinner my wife had prepared! 

Darren still hunts every year, as does my grandson Reece. Last week, he got his first deer—a big doe, which he shot cleanly with his crossbow. I am so proud of him and have no ill feelings about the kill, although I didn’t go up close to see it. I did see the photo of Reece with his first kill, and I am so proud of him. But as we often say, “That ship has sailed for me.”

I’m sure that I will be eating some fresh venison soon, and I will enjoy as eating it after my son John has grilled it on his outdoor grill.

I do feel sad when I see a roadkill deer, raccoon, possum, squirrel, turtle, or bunny. I never stop to say. “I’m sorry,” for the deaths of those critters—but I am. I will always stop to move a turtle off the road if it’s safe to do so, and I always put him on the side of the road where he is headed. Because I know there is a female in that direction sending him hormonal messages, and I never want to interfere with reptilian romance! 

Snakes are a different story. If they are not in a building, I encourage them to move toward the woods. If they are in the house, I do what seems to be politically correct if there are other humans about! But I always avoid bloodshed if possible. Most folks I know are not as tolerant as I am with indoor reptiles, but I still want to bless those beasts as much as it’s politically okay!

So, this is my current stand on the beasts we live with. The song title and story are, “Bless the Beasts and the Children.” I try to bless my children and their children as much as possible, but I think they bless me way more than the other way around, and for that, I am so thankful.