I think the beauty of a trophy is the memories attached to it. You can’t eat the skin, the antlers or the tusks. But the heads on the wall, or the tusks made into a knife handle, or the piece of antler used as a toggle on a gunslip all just keep the memories alive.
I was sent a picture a couple years ago of a stags head in a lodge up in Highlands. Plaque was from the late 1930’s and it had been shot by my Grandmother. She died 40 years ago.
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I shot this boy 20 odd years ago. @billbartlett mounted it for me. I just look at it and I am back in the woods as if it was yesterday.
The rest of him was eaten and then went down the public sewer a long time ago.
I could just his head inti a pit or hedgerow - but that would have been a shame.