Word: seale
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Hunters were also coming under attack in Canada last week for the brutality of the annual seal-pup slaughter (see THE WORLD...
...Canadian government is having similar thoughts after four years of hostile publicity and occasional exaggerations about the hunt. In 1964, a Quebec TV crew filmed it to glorify the hardy Newfoundland swilers; the finished product horrified Canadians instead (although swilers angrily maintain that scenes of seals being skinned alive were staged by the TV men). Another film is being shown around the world by a determined Canadian S.P.C.A. executive named Brian Davies. It has provoked emotional stories in the world press, and something close to an international crusade to halt the hunt. Angry letters and petitions flood Ottawa, and demonstrators...
Stout Oak Clubs. Not all of them make it. Of the 250,000 harp-seal pups born in the gulf each year, nearly one-quarter may die at the hands of their natural enemy-man. Their white coats have long been prized for boot and glove trimmings and for fur jackets. In the gulf, a horde of hunters invade the floes on foot, by boat, on ski-equipped planes and in recent years by helicopter. Hundreds of sealers-"swilers" in the Newfoundland dialect-conduct a brief but grimly efficient slaughter. With stout oak clubs they move systematically through the herd...
Outrageously Inappropriate. A veteran swiler can complete a kill in less than a minute. The hunter, his face smeared with seal blood to cut down ice glare and prevent chapping, grabs a 60-lb. pup by a hind flipper, whacks it on its soft skull, spins the pup over, punctures the throat and then neatly skins away pelt, flippers and blubber with swift strokes of a razor-sharp knife. The process commences at dawn, continues until dark and turns the once pristine ice into an ugly palette of dirtied snow, crimson blood sprays and grotesquely skinned carcasses. Watching this month...
...Chief Executive--a man so intensely serious, so devoid of anything one associates with human warmth--can survive the pressures of the Presidency. Can we be led by a man who smiles like a zombie and whose idea of beauty is a replica of the Presidential Seal embroidered by his daughter? Only time will tell. Meanwhile, we must hope for something wonderful to happen. After all, wouldn't it be nice if just once we could see our absurdly serious President slip on a banana peel and land flat...