Dialogue: Irrational not to wear fur of possums

By LOUISA HERD*

I've got a fur coat and I love it. I am not a deviant fur-fetishist, nor am I a computer-literate cat. I'm just a girl who can't resist mink, musquash or coney.

Advertising hoardings bewailing the sacrifice of dumb animals or promoting the opulent charms of Naomi Campbell, in her bare scuddie as opposed to the luxurious sables she was caught wearing, cut no ice with me. Get beyond the emotive images of cute seal pups being clubbed and consider some other aspects of this hairy argument.

Having kicked off by seriously going beyond the greenie pale, I must make it clear that I in no way endorse the killing of endangered or wild animals for their pelts.

But what is wrong with culling furry pests or humanely managed fur-farms? Are Russian sable farms any worse than our own dealings in bobby calves?

I am amused at the hypocrisy of some animal rightists, who have the gall to lecture me on my beloved fur - a lucky op-shop find - while toting a fine calfskin bag or a pair of soft calfskin shoes or a stylish calfskin jacket.

Happening to know a bit about the afore-mentioned trade in very young calves - as a worker on a dairy farm, it's my job to put the prospective Gucci handbags out for the truck - I fail to see the difference between it and a well-run commercial chinchilla operation.

Mink farming was reasonably successful in my native Scotland, providing employment for many rural people, until the trade was ruined by the animal rights folk, who "liberated" the mink to wreak havoc on the fragile Scottish wildlife.

They also killed the market for the furs by bravely throwing eggs at fur-clad grannies. It was easier to wear a Glasgow Rangers scarf in a Catholic pub than to be seen wearing fur in public. Even the Queen flagged it.

If you substitute possum for mink, does the above peroration have a familiar ring? I hope it does, because in a roundabout way here are my musings on the possum debate, inspired by attending a meeting on bovine tuberculosis control (the possum is a major vector for TB) and by my son coming home with yet another possum that he's shot.

Before the advent of politically correct thought, the possums were kept under control by the paying of a bounty on the skins. Young lads like my son could earn a decent income from hunting and some lucky lady got to feel like Grace Kelly in her fur coat.

The protesters demonstrated against the fur trade, suppressed it and now the possum is rampant in the delicate bush ecosystem. Controversial methods of poisoning the pest are taking a toll on valuable native species. Another avenue of rural employment is closed.

The beast was originally introduced here for the purpose of harvesting its fur. We are never going to eradicate it, so why not put it to use?

I'd be the first to throw eggs at some ghastly rich woman wearing ocelot or tiger, but what's wrong with sashaying out swathed in possum or rabbit? I have seen some divine possum-fur coats, tributes to the furrier's highest art, modelled on TV.

But I defy the model to walk down Queen St without getting harassed or spat on by animal rightists who, like most zealots, have only one point of view - their own.

Why should we be dictated to by narrow-minded bigots such as these?

Before farming, I was a podiatrist, dealing largely with the elderly. I remember one old dear, shivering in a thin jacket during a Scottish winter, telling me she was unable to wear her warm fur coat because some appalling lout had thrown an egg at her. The long-dead mink obviously excited his pathetic little sympathies. I don't think he'd have cared a fig about Granny dying of hypothermia.

Fur is warm. It's so snug and cosy, keeping winter chills at bay like nothing else. After all, its true purpose is to keep its original owner nice and toasty. Its added lure for vain females, myself included, is that certain je ne sais quoi that even the best wool coat can't replicate.

Imagine the exotically beautiful Miss Campbell in her sables. Now think of her in a duffle coat. Get the picture?

Do your bit for the preservation of the New Zealand bush and look stunning at the same time. Get that possum out of the backblocks and draped on your back in all its thick, soft, warm, furry glory.

I can guarantee, knowing how hard it is to prise my fur off the shoulders of friends who borrow it to keep warm at barbecues, that you'll feel a million dollars. Save the pohutukawa - wear a possum. Now, where can I get a possum-skin coat?

* Louisa Herd is a Wellsford writer.