THE CANNED  HUNTING                         LA   CHASSE  DU  LION   EN  BOITE                       

 
 

WHAT'S THE CANNED HUNTING?

A CANNED HUNT IS ESSENTIALLY A TROPHY HUNT IN WHICH THE ANIMAL IS KEPT IN A MORE CONFINED AREA , SUCH AS IN A FENCED-IN AREA INCREASING THE LIKELIHOOD OF THE HUNTER OBTAINING A KILL.

QU'EST CE QUE LA CHASSE DU LION EN BOITE ?

LA CHASSE DU LION EN BOITE EST ESSENTIELLEMENT UNE CHASSE AU TROPHEE DANS LAQUELLE L'ANIMAL EST GARDE DANS UN ENDROIT FERME COMME UNE ZONE CLOTUREE.
IL SERA EGALEMENT DROGUE CE QUI AUGMENTE LA PROBABILITE DU CHASSEUR DE L'OBTENTION DU TROPHEE.
CES ANIMAUX SONT ELEVES PAR L'HOMME JUSQU'A CE QU'ILS SOIENT ASSEZ MATURES POUR ETRE MIS A MORT POUR DES COLLECTIONS DE TROPHEES.

Ours programs are intended to assist child victims to protect the planet and endangered animals, but how could we be credible if we passed beside the horror of canned hunting without reacting.
One organisation in South Africa who is fighting against the canned hunting is the CACH.
They are fighting to try to stop the hunt , but they also have a rehabilitation center for injured animals. This center helps protect , but also for those who can, bring them back to the wild life.

CACH - THE KOUGA WILDLIFE REHAB CENTRE & SANCTUARY.
http://www.cannedlion.org/



Nos programmes veulent apprendrent aux enfants victimes comment protéger la planète et les animaux en voie d'extinction, mais comment serions nous crédibles dans notre travail si nous passions à côté de cette chasse du lion en boîte sans réagir!
Un organisme en Afrique du Sud lutte contre cette pratique abjecte: le CACH
Ils veulent imposer une loi afin que finisse cette pratique de la chasse pour un trophée, mais aussi veulent avec leur centre de réhabilitation le KOUGA WILDLIFE REHAB CENTRE & SANCTUARY sauver des animaux blessés, orphelins, les protéger et si leur état leur permet, les remettre à nouveau dans la vie sauvage.

http://www.cannedlion.org/

L'HISTOIRE DE SHUMBA

Mon nom est Shumba, quand je suis né, ce n'était pas dans mon propre monde, à l 'abri du vent dans les touffes d'herbes Tussoky dans la savane.
Je ne pouvais me trouver dans la chaleur du soleil , boire le lait d'une mère qui me défendrait avec sa vie.
Je suis né dans un monde entouré de barres d'acier.
La tête de mes soeurs fut écrasée et leur cou brisé à la naissance
parce que les chasseurs ne veulent que des trophées mâles.
Ma mère a été chassée rapidement après l'accouchement afin de pouvoir à nouveau très vite être inséminée et redonner naissance à encore plus de petits.
Encore, et encore, et encore jusqu'à ce que son pauvre corps en soit usé.
Son but dans la vie naturelle a été perverti, ma mère la fière lionne devint une machine à produire emprisonnée , tout comme les poules en batterie...
Mes cris plaintifs atteignirent les oreilles de ma mère aux aguets et pendant des jours et des nuits, je l'ai entendue gémissant désèspérément torturée par l'angoisse. Tous ses instincts criaient en elle pour me donner protection.
Désespérement elle mâcha le grillage qui nous séparait jusqu'à ce que le sang coule de ses gencives lacérées.
Mes premiers mois ont été heureux à jouer avec les autres petits, mais en fait je n'étais qu'un jouet humain pour le plaisir de l'homme qui croyait qu'un jour je serais libéré.
Mais la nuit j'étais enfermé prisonnier dans un camp minuscule , comme un être humain, puni pour avoir commis un crime horrible .
Je ne connaitrais jamais le confort et la caresse du manteau chaud de ma mère et de sa langue rugueuse.
La nourriture naturelle pour un lion , comme de la viande fraiche ou des entrailles étaient bien entendu trop cher, je fus donc nourris par une nourriture qui boulversa mon estomac, mais fit aussi tomber mes cheveux.
Mon manteau était triste et mes yeux enfoncés et ternes.
J'étais tellement inapte que le fait de marcher ne fut ce que quelques pas, me forçait à m'arrêter haletant.
A force d'apathie, de malaise et d'ennui, je suis devenu comme tous les autres lions en cage autour de moi, léthargique et déprimé.
Durant trois longues années j'ai trainé tristement dans cet endroit malheureux.
Puis une froide journée d'hiver, quand le soleil brillait doucement dans un ciel de crystal , je fus lancé, drogué et trainé dans une section voisine du Bushveld.
Pendant que je me blottissais tremblant contre un tronc d'arbre , ne sachant pas quoi faire de moi-même dans un espace aussi ouvert après tout ce temps d'enfermement , j'ai entendu les aboiements des chiens tout excités se rapprochant...
Très vite je me suis retrouvé luttant pour ma vie, contre une meute de chiens hargneux.
Instinctivement je pris un chemin, tentant maladroitement d'éviter les feintes et les attaques.
Puis les chasseurs sont arrivés dans un véhicule , et deux des hommes ont commencé à tirer sur moi avec des flèches tirées de leur arc, de tout près.
Je ne pouvais pas fuir à cause des chiens, ils ne pouvaient pas me manquer, j'étais une cible si facile et sans défense.
Oh cette douleur de ces flèches tirées l'une après l'autre et s'enfonçant dans mon corps sans défense...
Les flèches me frappaient de plus en plus, et malgré que je m'affaiblissais par la perte de mon sang, les chiens me traquaient encore, et encore ...
Je senti leurs dents brutaliser mon arrière -train et mon ventre mou,
J'ai essayé de rugir pour exprimer ma rage et ma douleur, mais je ne pu sortir que des grognements étouffés.
Finalement je me suis éffondré, et les chiens furent chassés.
Mais là personne ne mis fin à mon agonie, car une balle dans la tête ou dans tout autre point vital, aurait pu abimer le trophée que j'étais...
Je restais là une heure ou plus haletant mon âme, avant que la mort miséricordieuse pu apporter fin à ma souffrance.

Mon corps déchiré et ensanglanté est enfin en paix.........


Shumba's Story.....


My name is Shumba. When I was born, it was not into my own world, sheltered from the wind by the clumps of tussocky grass on the African savannah. Nor  could I lie in the warm sun, suckling from a mother who would defend me with her life.
Instead, the world I was born into had stell bars. My sisters heads were crushed and their necks broken at birth because hunters only want male trophies. My mother was driven out shortly after giving birth, so that she could come back into oestrus quickly and be inseminated to give birth to  yet more cubs.
Again and again and again , until her poor body was worn out.
For her natural purpose in life has been perverted.
My proud mother, the lioness, was a production line for cubs, imprisoned so that she could drop cubs like a battery hen frops eggs.
My plaintive cries for my mother reached her alert ears, and for days and nights I heard her despairing moans, racked with anguish. All her instincts were calling out to her to give me protection.
Desperatly, she shewed at the wire mesh that separated us, until the blood flowed from her lacerated gums.
My eraly months should have been happy and playful, romping with the other cubs, and pestering the pride members with my mischief.
But instead, I was used as a human plaything by day, pawed by tourists who were assured that one day I would be set free.
At night I was confined in a tiny prison camp as if I were a human who was being punished for committing some terrible crime. I would never know the comfort and caress of my mother's warm coat and rough tongue.
Natural food for a lion , such as fresh meat and entrails , was evidently far too expensive, so I was fed processed pellets, which not only upset my stomach, but also made my hair fall out .
My coat was dull, my eyes sunken and lack-lustre.
I was so unfit that even walking a few paces caused me to stop, panting for breath.
Driven listless by boredom and discomfort, I became like all the other caged lions around me, lethargic and depressed.
Three long years dragged by drearily in such a miserable, unhappy place. Then , one crisp winter day, when the mild sun shone out of a crystal sky, I was darted, drugged, and dragged out into a nearby stretch of bushveld.
While I huddled, trembling, against a tree-trunk, not knowing what to do with myself in so much open space after a life of confinement , I heard the excited barking of approaching dogs.
Soon, I found myself fighting for my life against a snarling pack of dogs.
Instinctively, I snapped this way and that , jumping clumsily to avoid the feints and attacks.
Then the hunters arrived in a vehicule , and two of the men began shooting at me with arrows drawn from their bows, all from close range.
I could not flee because of the dogs.
They could not miss: I was a helpless target.
Oh ! The pain form those arrows as , one after another, they thudded into my defenceless body.
More and more arrows hit me , the shafts standing out crazily at different angles.
As I weakened from loss of blood, the dogs, still harrying me, were able to get in close.
I felt their teeth savaging my hindquarters and soft underbelly.
I tried to roar, to express my rage and pain, but could manage only some muffled snarls.
Finally, I collapsed mand the dogs were chased off with sjamboks.
Even then, nobody put me out of my agony, because a shot to the head or a vital spot might have damaged the trophy parts of my body.
So there I lay for an hour or more, gasping out my lifeblood, before merciful death came to bring my suffering to an end.

My torn and bloodied body lay at last in peace.......

CHRIS MERCER



What is canned lion hunting?

It is much more than the cruel killing of tame , captive-breds animals in confined spaces from which escape from  the hunters is not possible.

It is a process whereby the public's wildlife heritage is transfered out of the public domain into the hands of hunters for cruel profiteering.

It's also barbarie.No torture seems to be beyond the scope of the hunters sadistic imaginations.Look at websites , and read the boastful articles in SA hunting magazines if you have a strong stomach.

This mindless brutality , the wanton cruelty to helpless animals is all so frivolous and unnecessary.The purpose is recreation and the prize an adornment, some lifeless clutter to hang on some wretch's wall.

On this specious reasoning, it is only whaling that will save the whale, and ivory poaching that will save the elephant!
But any intelligent person can see that giving an animal a value merely serves to increase the commercial exploitation to the point where wild populations can no longer support the industry, which then has to turn to captive breeding in order to meet commercial demand.
So , while the hunting industry whacks the animals and stacks the profits, the people lose their heritage.

CHRIS MERCER is a retired advocate of the Hight Court of Zimbabwe, with 20 years experience in the law.
He is also a founder of the Kalahari Raptor and Predator Center, a 600 hectare wildlife sanctuary near Kuruman which since 1998 has been rescuing and rehabiliting, caracals, impala, eland, eagles, owls vultures, bat-eared fox, jackals, porcupines and other "beautiful, intelligent,and affectionnate animals".
Along with rescuing and caring for orphaned and injured Wildlife, Chris and Bev where also involved in environmental education, with hundreds of school children coming through the center each year.
Chris explained: Canned Hunting is the hunting of an animal where the target is unfairly prevented from escaping the hunter, because of either physical constraints (fenced in ) or mental contraints (habituation to humans).
BUT SURELY NO ONE WOULD BE SHOOTING SOME CAPTIVE OR TAME LION ?
WHAT POSSIBLE HONOUR OR CHALLENGE COULD ANY HUNTER FIND IN THAT ?

CHRIS MERCER est un avocat à la retraite de la Haute Cour du Zimbabwe, avec 20 ans d'expérience dans la loi.
Il était également le fondateur du Kalahari Raptor and Predator Center, une réserve faunique de 600 hectares près de Kuruman, et qui depuis 1998 aide au sauvetage et à la réhabilitation des caracals, impala, des aigles, des hiboux, vautours, chacals, porcs-épics et autres "intelligents, affectueux et beaux animaux".
Avec leurs sauvetages et les soins donnés aux animaux blessés ou orphelins, Chris et Bev sont également impliqués dans l'éducation environnementale, avec des centaines d'enfants d'âge scolaire venant chaque année au centre.
Chris explique: The Canned Hunting est la chasse d'un animal lorque celui-ci est injustement empêché d'échapper à la chasse, soit en raison de contraintes physiques (cloturé) ou de contraintes mentales (accoutumance à l'homme).
MAIS QUI AURAIT ENVIE DE TUER UN LION EN CAPTIVITE OU DOMESTIQUE?
QUEL HONNEUR OU CHALLENGE UN CHASSEUR PEUT IL TROUVER EN CELA?

Chris and Bev are looking for people who like them would help protect these animals, and would like to become investors participating in the second sanctuary for rehabilitation that they would create.
Here is their request:

Chris et Bev sont à la recherche de personnes qui comme eux souhaiteraient protéger ces animaux en danger et deviendraient des investisseurs participants au deuxième sanctuaire de réhabilitation qu'ils voudraient créer.
Voici leur requête:

Bev and I wish to repeat the succes of our Kalahari Raptor and Predator Center here in the Cape.
To establish a new wildlife rehab center and sanctuary , we need to buy suitable land .
Land which adjoins Wilderness , and which is free from land claims or likelihood of expropriation.The perfect situation is the land adjoining the Bavianskloof Mega Cluster, which governement is expanding to create a huge eco-system stretching from Addo to the Tsitsikamma.
See : www.bavianskloof.net

Private landowners bordering the reserve- which as rhino , as buffalo- are being offered a stewardship agreement to bring their land into the reserve.
There are farms for sale, but we would need to secure at least R3million (approx Euro:300.000) , of which we ourselves can put up R1million ( approx Euro : 100.000) , and are looking for other like-minded people to contribuate the other.
The idea is that each shareholder puts in R1million for one-third share of the property.
We would sell our house and live on the property , establishing and managing the Wildlife Sanctuary.The other owners can participate as much as they wish , and can use the property as a holiday farm for their family and friends.
NO HUNTING ALLOWED.
They would remain owners indefinitely , whith their share passing to their heirs.
( OF COURSE THIS DOES NOT MEAN THAT THEY MAY NOT SELL THEIR SHARE AT A LATER DATE, AND IN THAT CASE WOULD HAVE TO OFFER IT FIRST AT EXISTING SHAREHOLDERS AT THE MARKET PRICE).
All co-owners would then enjoy the benefits of any capital gain, and meanwhile they would have un-restricted use of the holiday farm and facilities.

We would be on the property full time so that they would always be responsible person in situ.

We would develop a reputable wildlife rehab facility, taking in orphaned and injured animals /birds from local farmers, Vets and conservation authorities.
Breeding programs for regionally extinct species such as Cape Vultures can be undertaken, and we have already discussed them with Conservation official in Port Elisabeth and Eastern Cape Park Board ,which manages the Baviaanskloof.

A business plan for the rehab center/sanctuary is available for any interested parties.
If your contacts know any nature lovers who are also anti-hunting, and have some spare capital, they should feel free to forward this proposal.

Kind regards
Chris.



This is the true story of one farming family's efforts to rescue wild animals in the harsh Wilds of  Namibia.
An uplifting saga of extraordinary rescues,of succes of failure, of triumph and tragedy..
This book will make you laugh and cry in equal measure.
You will learn a great deal about African Wildlife. Also how to establish a Wildlife rehab center - and not what to do .
How rough and ready african solutions can surprisingly succed even in the most unlikely situations.
About the authors:
Chris Mercer and Bev Pervan have a long history of working with wildlife and campaigning for animal welfare , going back nearly fourteen years when they established the KALAHARI RAPTOR CENTER .
Thereafter they focussed on Canned Hunting.
Their purpose in republishing the book electronically is to raise funds to support their non-profit Campaign against Canned Hunting: CACH.
http://fortheloveofwildlife.com/






















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