The Italian hunting season has started, and from 6am our house sounds as if it were in a First World War battle zone. Italians take this very seriously and are beautifully kitted out: imagine male catwalk models where 'paramilitary' was the style of the day. Their guns are often sophisticated multi-round pump action repeaters and their sunglasses more Schwarzenegger than Lennon.
They don't hit much - to be fair there isn't much left to hit. Last year some people were fined for shooting thrushes but there is little policing. If it moves they shoot it, be it squirrel, hare, blue tit or whatever. They have the right to walk all over your land in pursuit of this slaughter and many is the domestic dog or cat fed poisoned titbits to prevent it from disturbing the game.
About 20 years ago there was a referendum on whether these hunting rights should be restricted and the voting was about 15:1 in favour of stopping it. But unfortunately the turnout at under 50% did not constitute a quorum and the attempt failed.
This is one of the very few areas of Italian life which is crude, selfish and unlovely. Apparently a new attempt is in the offing to stop it. We shall see.
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