I don't buy seal pelts or eat flipper pie. Nor do I eat veal. But I gobble lamb and trade craft beer for venison, both chucks and ground up. I have represented a slaughterhouse. I do not rank age as a particularly important aggravating factor whatever experience of pain or disappointment that an animal is destined to be joined in final consummation with tasty sauces and popped corks. Yet I have been hearing how the seal hunt will destroy the population off Canada's east coast since at least grade ten science in 1978 and I think it is OK to point out that there seem to be plenty yet to kill. Nevertheless, spring is coming: time for the Euro-cameras.