Get in Touch

Please Note: This site is not intended to be a forum for debate.  It is intended to be a source for tactics. If you are a hunter who wants to debate, we suggest Toast-Masters International.

We do not keep a list of hunt sabs that you can contact. We will not send out activist contact info. We are not a directory or telephone tree. If you are interested in sabbing, read over the site. Once you have done your research, check for interested participants among friends or at local Animal Rights/Animal Welfare groups.

Methods:  Do you have a sabbing tactic that works in your area that you don’t see on the site?  Send it to us.  Please specify if/how you would like credit for it.

Hunting Forums: We are currently monitoring numerous hunting forums for tactics and other info. If you are lurking on a forum and notice some interesting info we could use let us know.

Equipment: We are compiling recommended outfitting for different regions.  Please submit your sabbing equipment list

Media: If you are from the media and would like to do a balanced story about Hunt Sabbing in America. Contact us here.

Didn’t work?: Please email us tactics, equipment, etc that just didn’t live up to your expectations.  Use a gun that left a major bruise?  We want to hear about it!

NOTICE: The full content of threats, insults and generally funny comments emailed to the collective will be published on this site.  Threats are taken seriously, and we contact the proper authorities.

Most  emails we receive from hunters are covered in the below opinion piece from The Onion.  We understand that, as a hunter, you want to “kick,” “beat,” etc the “crap” and/or “shit” out of us.  Get over it.  It’s a hobby.  I like hiking, but I’m not going to kick your collective asses for putting rocks on the trail.

Do My Empty Threats Mean Nothing To You?
By Greg Swanson
August 30, 2006 | Issue 42•35

Lately, I’ve been getting the impression that you’re not taking me very seriously. Yesterday, you barely even looked in my direction when I told you that when I’m through with you you’ll wish you’d never been born. Well if you believe you can just tune out Greg Swanson’s warnings, you’ve got another think coming. So you better wise up, or I swear to God I’ll eventually live up to my promise to make your life a living hell.

Do you think ultimatums like these grow on trees? I put a lot of energy into my low-voiced intimidation, and I don’t appreciate when you don’t give it the respect I think it deserves. Do you know how hard it was to tell you I’d never speak to you again for the fifth time? How about showing a little regard for the guy who could take you for everything you’re worth and run you out of town? And I could if I wanted to, believe me. I absolutely could.

I’ll ruin you. I’ve thought long and hard on just how to do it, too. Any day now you’ll wake up and this pretty little fairy tale you call a life will be nothing more than a memory. And when that day comes, you’ll realize how wrong you were to ignore my many, many warnings. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not even six months from now. But mark my words, you’ll be sorry.

If you don’t start taking my ambiguous but menacing threats seriously, prepare to suffer the consequences. They aren’t likely to be the ones I mentioned in the threats, but believe me, after a few more weeks of my covert glares, finger-wagging, and incoherent insults muttered under my breath, you’ll be begging for mercy. And I won’t stop there. You won’t be able to hide from the ranting, inconclusive e-mails I’ll write but never send, not to mention my merciless campaign of unfounded accusations. What do you think of that, you Nazi-sympathizing child pornographer.

In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the guy who could have told the boss about your little $12.77 “accounting error” last quarter without batting an eye. Do you think I lost any sleep over reminding you daily that I could, in all likelihood, get you fired? Not a wink. And I’d choose not to rat on you again given half a chance. In fact, if I can get all the employers in the area to agree to it, you’ll never work in this town again. So the next time you think about shrugging off my half-hearted attempts at intimidation, just remember: I’ve got your ass in a sling, hypothetically.

So go on, just keep pushing me. You’re on my list, bucko, and the thing about my list is that no one ever gets off. You could be on my list until the day you die and not even know it. Of course, you will know it, because I’ll routinely remind you that you’re on my list. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.

Unless, of course, you’d like to be moved all the way to No. 1 on the list. No? I didn’t think so. Neither one of us wants that, believe me.

Maybe you don’t know how important I am in this office. Maybe you’re even more ignorant than I thought, and you don’t realize that I pay a lot of lip service to some fairly important projects around here. If everything goes as planned, I’ll be receiving a lateral promotion this spring, and when that happens, I’ll have a lot of connections in some pretty comparable positions, so you’d be wise to start kissing my ass now. You’d hate to come in to work one day to find, oh, say, that your desk is all rearranged, wouldn’t you? Or that your thermostat was cranked up to 80? It would be a real shame if your salad disappeared from the kitchen fridge. Wouldn’t it?

Now do I have your attention?

You know, the real shame is that it didn’t have to be this way. When I first met you, I actually thought we might be good buddies. I tried to be friendly by offering you plenty of compliments and kind gestures. They may have been nonspecific and unemotional, but that’s no reason to turn your back on me the way you did. But now, it’s too damn late for apologies, so you’d better just shape up and start paying heed to my passive–aggressive criticism.

Or else.