Hunters murdered beautiful kestrels

For the last three years, there were two kestrels in the area where we live. They often roosted on a first floor windowsill of our house. We valued their presence. We used to observe them with binoculars and enjoyed their elegant flying. They did no harm at all. Then, about two weeks ago, all of a sudden they were gone. We wondered where they were, until I found one of them, badly wounded, in the garden. Shot.
In this time of the year we are plagued by people who call themselves ‘hunters’. They spoil the quiet of our weekend by the incessant blasting of their guns. Their pleasure is to kill. To kill as many birds as they can.
Oh yes, they do have a licence issued by the competent authority. A licence to kill. A licence, also, to spoil the things that bring joy to other people. People who love nature and the creatures that live around us. People whose pleasure and joy they feel free to destroy. Because they have a gun.
A live bird is a joy for all, a dead bird is shame on one: the killer.