In days of old, brave men and women roamed the countryside in search of wild beasts. They shot those beasts. But in this age of political correctness, the noble sport of big game hunting has come under heavy fire. Critics call it inhumane, a frivolous waste of life, an affront to the sacred majesty of the animal kingdom. We call it fun.

Big game hunting takes a variety of forms. Some stalk elephants, others lions, others hippopotamuses. We like large birds. Unfortunately, the law is stacked against us. In California, it is illegal to kill the condor. The bald eagle is a protected species. Where Uncle Sam doesn't intrude, we face other obstacles. Hawks are quick and wily. Turkeys are too slow to be any fun.

So, we lovers of large winged-creatures-or more accurately, dead, large, winged-creatures-face quite a quandary. But we are a resourceful bunch. We seek out lesser-known creatures, creatures under the radar of government regulation, creatures that aren't too quick and aren't too slow-creatures who cry out, "Please kill us!" Late at night, we gather in small posses, we adorn ourselves in black, and we hunt down these birds. It is our duty, our calling. For the past three years we have lain dormant, waiting for the time to pounce once again.

Today, we're happy to report that we're back. Feathered friends beware.