Sometimes, I just want to get some sleep.

I do not want for my dog to decide that he now needs to bark at thunder, on the night the television weatherman tells us is going to be the stormiest so far in a very stormy month. I appreciate that the dog is protecting me from the thunder gods, but really. ... 

I also do not necessarily want to have just drifted off to a deep, much-needed REM sleep only to be awakened by the cat loudly yowling in the kitchen. When I stumble into the kitchen and see him on the countertop, where he rarely goes because he knows it means instant clobberment, I do not want to look up on the top of the cabinets where he’s trying to climb and spy a little sparrow the cat has brought in through the kitty door. As much as I know it is his nature, I particularly do not want the cat to keep sharing the kill with me.

And as I’m tromping around the kitchen in my jammies with a broom in one hand and a lightweight jacket in the other (the idea being to softly throw the jacket over aforementioned sparrow so I could net her and toss her out the door I have left open for her escape), I completely and utterly DO NOT WANT to notice that the spider I have just tried to sweep back out the patio door has a very large egg sac on her back. And really, truly, at 2 a.m., I do not wish to have to get the dustpan and gently scoop the spider up and out the door so as not to spill thousands of baby spiders in my home because I know I would never be able to sleep in this house again. 

And I really don’t want to have to give up on being able to get the bird out the door and just turn off the lights, leave the door open, scoop the cat up and go to the bedroom in the hope that the bird will find her way to freedom.

I don’t want to lie in bed with the dog growling sotto voce at the thunder now because he knows I’ll smack him if he barks and the cat batting at the bedroom door yowling every five seconds because I do not understand that he has work to do. 

And I don’t want to go back out into the kitchen to check on the bird only to discover that it is perched on top of the light fixture in my kitchen and has demonstrated right there in the kitchen the reality that birds have no control over their intestinal sphincter muscles. 

And when I finally get the little bird flying in the direction of the back door, I deeply, profoundly do not want the cat to jump four feet in the air and bring her down in one graceful leap. I appreciate the athleticism, but really.... 

And I don’t want to spend another 20 minutes chasing the cat from under the futon to under my bed into the laundry room to the bathroom behind the toilet all the time with the bird in his mouth, growling and hissing like he has transmogrified into a minor demon from The Exorcist. 

I don’t want to finally get the now-dead bird away from the cat, the cat settled down, the dog finally sleeping only to have the clock radio go off with tales of marching in the streets of Tehran. I am completely in solidarity with the Iranian people in their quest for democracy, but really. ...

Sometimes, I just want to get some sleep. 

One of my very favorite books is Ernest Hemingway’s Green Hills of Africa, a story in which Hemingway chronicles a hunting safari in Africa and uses the story to illustrate his love of, and opinions about, hunting, nature, writing and life in general. Big game hunting is of another realm in outdoor pursuits, and while I’m perfectly content chasing whitetail deer in the heart of America, stories of hunting things like lions in places like the Kalahari Desert in South Africa do get my blood pumping.

While looking at hunting stories over the weekend, I ran across an Outdoor Life story, “Bowhunting Africa's Killer Cats,” that blew me away.

In it, the author is hunting lion in Africa, with a bow. I read a lot of hunting stories, and hunting big cats with a bow borders on insanity.

To summarize, the author is using a pack of dogs, which chase and apparently bother the lion. According to the story, the lion will initially run from a pack of dogs, until it has had enough. When that encounter takes place, the lion is so distracted by the pack of dogs, the hunter is able to get in bow range.

In this case, which is a fascinating story, the author sinks an arrow into the lion’s heart from 10 yards, but the lion doesn’t immediately die. It turned on him and as it approached, one of the dogs, a Jack Russell-hound mix named Speck, lunged and momentarily occupied the lion – in a courageous and honorable, yet fatal, way – giving the hunter enough time to notch a second arrow and send it into the lion’s vitals.

The author then goes on to talk about a few others of his big cat hunting experiences. To help you avoid confusion, the “Following the Hounds” section is repeated in the Outdoor Life online version.

I can’t imagine hunting in this way. I know it’s incredibly expensive, but it would be a true test. Your aim would have to be true and your nerves steady.

My sophomore year of college, while writing the recreation beat of The University Daily Kansan (the University of Kansas’ student newspaper), I came upon a story of a student who had bowhunted black bear in Idaho. I thought that was remarkable; there is something to be said for hunting an animal that presents a threat to you. Hunting whitetails out of a tree, the challenge isn’t so much about survival as it’s about mastering techniques that allow you to overcome far superior senses and instinct that deer possess.

But cats are a different thing all-together. The speed and tenacity they would attack with, especially in a situation where it’s wounded and confronted, is unmatched compared with other wildlife. And to not have one of the guides holding a rifle, standing behind you – this author and his group had nothing – that’s asking for it (the test), alright. This guy did something I admire but could not do at this point in my life. He asked for it.