SEATTLE — In this noisy den of brine and ice, scales and slime, fish always have been part meat, part missile.
One man points to an enormous white-bellied fish, and another man in a wet apron scoops it up from the ice, hoists it over his shoulder and sends it flying 15 feet toward the counter.
"Hali-BUT! Hali-BUT! Heyyyyyy!" six men scream in unison. "Goin' right home! Goin' right home!" The counterman catches the hurtling fish neatly between the head and tail fin and slaps it onto a wrapping sheet.
The Pike Place Fish Market is the legendary home of the flying fish: Halibut as big as a wrestler's thigh, spiky medallions of crab, the smooth, rainbow flesh of Chinook salmon, all become rapid-fire marine rockets in the hands of Seattle's fishmongers -- who are as famous for the speed of their fish as for its freshness.
But did anyone ever think of the fish?
Asserting that the practice of lobbing fish above the heads of patrons and tourists at the market and other venues is disrespectful to creatures that already have gone through a lot, an animal rights group is protesting plans to stage a flying-fish exhibition at an upcoming national veterinarians conference in Seattle.
Ultimately, they would like to see the practice banned at the fish market too. They argue that tourists would not be nearly so eager to snap photos if dead kittens or gutted lambs were sailing over their heads.
"Killing animals so you can toss their bodies around for amusement is just twisted," said Ashley Byrne, senior campaigner for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals in Washington, D.C.
"And it particularly sends a terrible message to the public when vets call it fun to toss around the corpses of animals. If anyone should be promoting compassion and not callousness toward animals, it should be vets."
The 102-year-old Pike Place Market is perhaps Seattle's most important institution, a cacophony of commerce in the middle of the city that hosts 10 million visitors a year, including flocks of tourists and Seattleites in search of lunch and fresh flowers.
Stretching three levels down the hillside above Elliott Bay, the narrow, crowded rows of stalls and shops begin in the open-air bustle along Pike Street and Western Avenue, opposite the original Starbucks. The air is fragrant with the smells of fish, hot fried mini-doughnuts, Hmong flower sellers' fresh blooms and sizzling gourmet sausage.
