As my beloved and I are strolling around central Zagreb and gabbing about all sorts of things, the subject of hunting unexpectedly comes up, for neither of us knows almost anything about it. “I cannot imagine any fun in killing animals,” she raises her arms. “Culling is the usual excuse,” I remind her. “When there are too many animals of a particular kind, their numbers need to be reduced, and the requisite hunting licenses bring some revenue to the state.” My beloved is not impressed, though. “I still cannot imagine killing animals except if really hungry,” she shakes her head. “Ah,” I change the subject out of the blue, “imagine culling humans, instead, of whom there are way too many without any doubt!” And then I elaborate the idea with growing enthusiasm by talking about hunting licenses and the like. “Imagine how much revenue the state could collect that way,” I conclude with gusto. “Not funny,” sighs my beloved, and we switch to another subject. But the subject of culling is still ricocheting through my mind.

Addendum (January 19, 2014)

When my beloved and I returned home, I searched through my magnum opus with culling in mind. Although the term appears in only one of my pieces, it is quite remarkable (“Culling versus Chopping: A Letter to The Economist,” April 16, 2007). In it, I contrast the chopping of all forests to the culling of all animals, including one species that shall remain nameless. The mighty newspaper would never publish such a horrible letter, of course. But culling has stayed with me over so many years. Not funny, indeed.