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hs60150.jpgbuy prints of select halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (prints of all photographs are available upon request) day 60

Tucky Thompson was furious. A cluster of picketers marched around the perimeter of the Sasquatch Circus tent. Some handed out literature decrying the treatment of the Lady Sasquatch; others chanted, DON’T DEBAUCH THE SASQUATCH! A man with a megaphone blasted a rant into the crowd, condemning Tucky for taking the Lady Sasquatch’s life. Tucky stood amid the frenzy, barking at the protesters, demanding they leave. He screamed at the Sasquatch Summer producers, who couldn’t believe their luck and instructed their cameraman to keep shooting. The police were on their way to disperse the troublemakers by the time Tucky realized that there were two separate protests afoot, that they’d simply morphed into one.

The man with the megaphone and the people with the pamphlets were from a well-known animal rights organization known for dousing fur-wearing celebrities and fashion editors with buckets of red paint at public events. They were young and skinny. Many of the men wore goatees and the women sported dreadlocks.
The other demonstrators were decidedly older and burly. Pot bellies hung over their big belt buckles and their beards were neatly trimmed. Tucky recognized a few of the faces as being Sasquatch hunters he’d met at conferences over the years.

There was nothing more controversial in the Sasquatch hunter community than the debate over whether or not to kill a Sasquatch.

The community was further polarized regarding what should be done in the event a Sasquatch was killed or discovered dead. There were unwritten rules, and Tucky Thompson had broken them all. Most notably, he’d all but disregarded his Sasquatch obsessed peers. After it was confirmed that Tucky’s kill was indeed a Sasquatch, it was all T-shirts and taxidermy, Bigfoot Cinnamon Buns and a circus tent. Online, Sasquatch message boards were aflame with censure. Tucky’s most dedicated critics – eleven of them in total — mobilized and agreed to meet at the scene of his indefensible crimes.

“It’s just plain wrong, what he’s doing in there,” one of the Tucky’s detractors told Scott, the Sasquatch Summer producer as he marched around the perimeter of the Sasquatch Circus tent wielding a sign that read SHARE THE SASQUATCH!

“So you disagree with Mr. Thompson charging a fee to see the Lady Sasquatch?”

“It’s not his place. You can’t charge people. You can’t own a Sasquatch.”

“Mr. Thompson has said that he’s within his rights as a licensed big-game hunter to exploit his kill in whatever ways he see fit.”

“It may be legal, but it sure ain’t right.”

“It must be difficult for you to have made the trip up here, and not – on principle — allow yourself to see the creature you’ve devoted so much of your energies to proving the existence of.”

“What are you talking about?” The man lowered his sign and looked quizzically Scott.

“It must be so disappointing not to let yourself see the Lady Sasquatch because of your ethical convictions.”

“What are you talking about?” the man asked again. “I’ve seen ’er.”

“On TV?” It was Scott’s turn to be confused.

“No, in there.” He pointed his protest sign at the Sasquatch Circus tent.

“You paid admission?”

“Hell, yeah.” The man looked at Scott incredulously. “It’s a Sasquatch.”

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                                                                                                                                                          ©2008 pamela klaffke