Fred's Death

On May 3, 2007, 11-year-old Jamison Stone pumped nine bullets into a half ton pig at the Lost Creek Plantation in Alabama, a 150-acre secured hunting ground. Because of the pig’s enormous size and the child-hunter’s skill deficiency, it took three hours (with a .50-caliber handgun) to bring the bloodied animal down. The hunt was arranged by Mike Stone, Jamison’s father, and the two owners of Southeastern Trophy Hunters. Lost Creek’s Eddy Borden had placed ads hyping the massive “wild boar” roaming the wilds of his property and charged Stone $1,500 for the pleasure of hunting it down. But it was all a great big lie.

The pig was actually a fully domesticated animal named Fred. Phil Blissitt, Fred’s owner, had sold him to Borden for $250 just four days prior. Blissitt would subsequently describe Fred as a gentle, trusting creature who enjoyed playing with the grandchildren, spending time with the family chihuahua, and eating canned sweet potatoes. But that trust was unforgivably betrayed and done so without a hint of remorse: The Blissitts, who bought Fred as a six-week-old piglet in ’04, only objected to the purported record size of the “monster pig” and the allegedly doctored photo, not to his final fate.

A grand jury convened to investigate possible animal cruelty charges, but the DA would eventually drop the case. Still, the question remained: With Fred slowly bleeding to death, why didn’t the three experienced hunters shoot and end the misery? Only after facts came to light did Stone say, “I regret that it didn’t die the first shot.” But it was actually a deliberate decision by Stone so that he could market his 11-year-old beast-slayer, website included. So Fred suffered. Pathologist Dr. Melinda Merck said (Rhonda Shearer): “Based on the lack of a conclusive kill shot and the prolonged time to die, the cause of death is most likely shock and exsanguinations primarily from the injuries to the abdominal organs.” And surgeon Dr. Li-Horng Lee said that the wounds “would have caused extreme pain and anxiety for a prolonged period of time.”

In December 2003, Vice President Dick Cheney, proud recipient of five draft deferments during the Vietnam War, led a group of nine wealthy friends to the exclusive Rolling Rock Club in Pennsylvania. They were there to participate in their own timeless story of man vs. nature. Nature, here, was represented by 500 tame, fattened pheasants who were released from nets and subsequently mowed down. Over 400 died, and after lunch, the mallards would get theirs.

With an estimated 1,000 preserves and ranches strewn across the land, canned (or trophy) hunting is big business. These ranches often offer “no kill, no pay” guarantees because, of course, the hopelessly trapped animals will eventually be killed. On the larger ones, guides will drive hunters to feeding areas or bait stations, apparently done to capture the feel of an African safari. Supply is manipulated to meet hunter demand, with targets either intentionally-bred on the ranch or purchased from animal dealers. These animals, being somewhat trusting of humans, make for far easier marks. As the goal is a trophy mount, non-vitals like the head and chest are avoided, resulting in slower, more painful deaths.

There is no federal law or regulatory agency addressing the industry, and restrictions, if any, vary from state-to-state. NY only stipulates that the grounds cover at least 10 acres and generously excludes the use of endangered animals. In the end, though, your most fantastic hunting desires are limited only by disposable income. It is, in fact, hunting for dummies.