I am not a hunter. Yes, I’ve gone hunting a time or two in my life. It’s not my bag, man.

Having declared that, I want to add that I detest trophy hunting, the idea of going into the wild and killing animals for the purpose of displaying their stuffed carcasses as trophies.

A social media acquaintance of mine has been posting pictures of trophy hunters that show up on my Facebook timeline. I won’t reproduce them here, because they disgust me in the extreme.

I just feel the need to vent for a moment about the ridiculousness of shooting big game, depriving Mother Nature of a prized creature and then displaying the remains in one’s “game room,” or “trophy room” or even in one’s living room.

Although I do not hunt wild animals, I do understand the idea of hunting them for, say, food. Deer provide venison. Elk can be consumed as well. I once had a stew prepared with black bear meat; it was quite tasty, if you want to know the truth.

However, I cannot pull the trigger on those creatures.

I especially cannot do so when it involves an animal I won’t eat at the dinner table.

Thus, trophy hunting disgusts me. So do the pictures I keep seeing of those hunters and their sh**-eatin’ grins sitting behind one of God’s magnificent creatures.

If you are a trophy hunter and you take offense at my remarks . . . that’s just too damn bad.