Speaking of wolves.

 To me, talking about hunting is way more interesting than a hunt itself and I think a fairly high percentage of hunters would agree even though they wouldn't admit it. And like you, Ramona, I have little respect for hunting that becomes a simple matter of aiming and pulling the trigger except when it really is worthwhile meat hunting. Bow hunters push an attitude along that line by bragging about the skill it actually does take to stalk their prey and get close enough for a kill with a bow compared to with a rifle. The most callous and indefensible game shooting I have seen was from a boat going down the Amazon. There were a few Bazilians on the boat who would shoot at any undomesticated animal on the banks as we passed by. Just to see if they could hit it. Sadly, there are situations in the world where people get like that towards other people. I will note that I rant about that and the situations leading to it on a regular basis, in case anyone hasn't noticed.
 I like to shoot but not enough to pursue chances to do it and I won't shoot again with a gun big enough that the kick hurts my shoulder. I went dove hunting once. Had a great day. And, bragging a bit, I will say that I used to have a pretty good eye. I have picked off a fair number of varmints, some at a good distance with a buddy's high end target pistol, but that was a long tome ago.  
 I killed a deer years ago in Wyoming with my car. Which reminds me ...
 Two friends and I used to sometimes take our dirt bikes out to open semi-dessert land dotted pretty thickly with mesquite trees and it was great fun, and a huge adrenalin rush a couple times to jump a jackrabbit and chase it. The first of the few times it happened we, being pack animals at some level like all human beings are, instantly became like a pack of dogs, or wolves, or hyenas I guess, without ever having consciously thought how it might go down or having worked out a tactic. Someone would end up in the lead and the other two would be a few lengths behind, one a bit to the right and one to the left as we raced after the rabbit. We were faster but it could make a 90 degree turn on a dime when we caught up. Then one of the trailing bikes could make a wider turn and stay with it while the previous leader would fall in behind. That is, if the whiley wabbit hadn't used a nasty sticker tree to set a pick. Which it always quickly did. Only one time did the chase last more than a few seconds, the rabbits had always given us the slip pretty quickly. That one time we had a bit more of a clear field and were able to stay with the rabbit longer. The rabbit had to gave up from exhaustion after a while and we all ended up stopped in a line, rabbit in the middle, and all of us breathing hard and all looking back and forth at each other, three of us grinning but the rabbit no doubt confused to not already be lunch. It caught its breath pretty quickly and took off while and we sat and watched it go and then rode back to the pickup for a cold beer.   
 When my son was fifteen he was invited on a deer hunt with some uncles and cousins whom I never did get to know well at all. Can't really speak to their attitudes about hunting. They weren't poor but neither were they prosperous. The hunt was an occasion for fun but the meat was at least a bit important. Each license allowed one kill but it was expected that if you got more than one shot you would take it and use someone else's tag to stay cool with the Game Warden. The idea was that it was more important to get the group total allowable than for each individual to get a trophy.
 My son had a clear shot and didn't take it. That night's campfire get together was the scene of a lot of good natured but embarrassing ribbing.  The next year he shot three dear, one which was on the run. He helped field dress all of them and later finish the job when the carcasses were hung to age. He has never had any interest in hunting again as far as I know. He taught his son at eight to safely handle and shoot a BB gun and then a 22 and then he put them away and guns and shooting are not an ongoing part of their life. He is a very good cook and ribs and chicken are a treat when he gets close to a grill. He wouldn't turn down venison if offered and it would probably become good jerky. I like the way it all went with him just fine.
 Hunting culture is complicated because humans are. I think it is good for a number of reasons to introduce children, whether they hunt or not, to the idea held by some hunter gatherers of giving a prayer of thanks to their dead prey but I cuss deer when I hurt my arm throwing rocks at them when they come into my yard and eat all my early flowers. Sometimes they look like they are starving. Sometimes I put one pump on my pellet gun [five pumps might make the pellet penetrate from close range] and pop them in the butt if I can get a shot. A deer with a definite antisocial attitude tried to killed me last Spring when I was on my motorcycle. Looked up and saw me coming and took an interception angle and sprinted like a cornerback right at me. I almost did a stopee [that is breaking so hard  that the bike stands up on its front wheel] and he missed by inches. A fucking Taliban deer, probably. Or, maybe it was a jackrabbit in a previous incarnation.  

 Mostly off topic, I watched a very interesting movie last night and although hunting was not a main theme at all, killing to live was a part of the situation that the only character, a woman, faced and thought deeply about. Worth a look if you find it available. 

http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-wall-2013