I remember in college a bee flew into the lounge a bunch of people we hanging out in. I suggested opening the window, but mid-sentence someone killed the bee. A person jeeringly asked me if I was some sort of insect lover who was going to cry about it. I shrugged and said I was not, but that the bee hadn't done anyone harm, so why murder it rather than just shoo it out of the room. I was just being honest, but I remember how shamed everyone looked. Why take a life if you don't have to? I feel the same about fishing for sport. You want to catch your dinner with a hook and a worm, I commend you, but there are so many ways to have fun, why would you try to stab an innocent fish with a hook, yank it into the suffocating air, make comments about it's body and then throw the wounded animal back in the water? However, incubating eggs bothers me more. It's like playing god. I can't speak for other birds, but ducks at least are perfectly capable of hatching their own young, who come into the world to be nestled to their mamas' bosoms until warm and dry and ready to explore. A incubator duckling is born into an alien void. They have to be kept warm for weeks and are denied the joys of exploring a verdant world of bugs and plants, because unlike their naturally birthed brethren they have no protective oils or acclamation to the outdoors. Who wants to be raised by a pair of giant alien hands, when you could be raised by their own?