The reasons to revile that filthy, spotted rat are too numerous to catalog here, plus if I started to type them out my computer screen would soon be dotted with flecks of spit. Suffice it to say that Bambi is for me the preeminent symbol of brain-dead environmentalism—you know that brand of “thinking” that holds that animals have nuclear families, that predators don’t eat meat (or flat-out don’t exist), that man, and more specifically hunters, are soulless destroyers of the natural world, and that fuzzy and furry herbivores are somehow the most morally supreme beings in the universe. Try explaining that last point to my innocent shrubbery, which has suffered unspeakably at the hands (hooves? mouths?) of my local deer.