Yesterday I sat under a tree
holding a frightened baby bunny in my cupped hands.
It was so soft and warm,
a brown and grey ball of fur,
and it had such
sweet little floppy ears,
and wide bright eyes
and a little twitching nose.
It was a little wild rabbit
and the thrill of holding this tiny
snippet of wild life--wild
young pulsing terrified but quiet life in my hands--
it was profound.
It did not try to run away from me; it did not struggle, although it did
nibble on the tip of my finger with its tiny little teeth.
It could not walk.
I knew it was going to die.
My cat had dragged it by the neck into my kitchen with a
triumphant meow,
and I had caught up the warm panting little body,
and, locking my cat in my bedroom
(where she sat and howled at the door),
I took it outside to release it.
It did not appear to be wounded, there was
only a small puncture under its eye (it raised its little paw to its face
as if to explore the wound), but when I set it in the grass,
it flopped onto its side, helpless.
I got a cardboard box and put a towel in it and made the bunny a nest.
I placed the bunny in the box, and it did not curl up, it simply lay as I had placed it.
I thought, the humane thing would be to kill it.
But I can't do it. I can't do it, even though it's the best thing to do,
even though it's the kindest thing to do. I don't know how to kill anything.
I don't WANT to know how to kill anything. What would I even kill it with? A shovel?
A bucket of water and a sack? No, no, no, I can't do it.
So I made it a warm soft bed in a box
and kept it in my room where scavengers couldn't start eating it
while it was still alive. Where my beloved cat
couldn't get to it and play with it.
(Minka wonders why I've locked her out of my room all day.)
I check on the bunny several times during the day.
Its black eye is dim now and half shut.
It's motionless except for its shallow little breaths
that come rapid, rapid, rapid.
I stroke its tiny ears, and then leave it alone;
I know my presence only makes it more scared.
It won't be long.
I know what something looks like when it's dying.
Tonight I kneel under the tree in the dark
and dig a hole and put the cold little body into it.
This is the first time I've buried something--I mean done it myself.
I sob like a baby, desolate.
I think, why am I crying so hard? After all, it's just a bunny.
Just!
But . . .
I held it yesterday, and
it had such sweet, tiny little paws,
and such bright eyes,
and it was so alive
and so perfect.
It was the most perfect little thing,
so soft and warm and alive
in my cupped hands.
Oh, I don't understand.
Why are the most basic things
the hardest to understand?
holding a frightened baby bunny in my cupped hands.
It was so soft and warm,
a brown and grey ball of fur,
and it had such
sweet little floppy ears,
and wide bright eyes
and a little twitching nose.
It was a little wild rabbit
and the thrill of holding this tiny
snippet of wild life--wild
young pulsing terrified but quiet life in my hands--
it was profound.
It did not try to run away from me; it did not struggle, although it did
nibble on the tip of my finger with its tiny little teeth.
It could not walk.
I knew it was going to die.
My cat had dragged it by the neck into my kitchen with a
triumphant meow,
and I had caught up the warm panting little body,
and, locking my cat in my bedroom
(where she sat and howled at the door),
I took it outside to release it.
It did not appear to be wounded, there was
only a small puncture under its eye (it raised its little paw to its face
as if to explore the wound), but when I set it in the grass,
it flopped onto its side, helpless.
I got a cardboard box and put a towel in it and made the bunny a nest.
I placed the bunny in the box, and it did not curl up, it simply lay as I had placed it.
I thought, the humane thing would be to kill it.
But I can't do it. I can't do it, even though it's the best thing to do,
even though it's the kindest thing to do. I don't know how to kill anything.
I don't WANT to know how to kill anything. What would I even kill it with? A shovel?
A bucket of water and a sack? No, no, no, I can't do it.
So I made it a warm soft bed in a box
and kept it in my room where scavengers couldn't start eating it
while it was still alive. Where my beloved cat
couldn't get to it and play with it.
(Minka wonders why I've locked her out of my room all day.)
I check on the bunny several times during the day.
Its black eye is dim now and half shut.
It's motionless except for its shallow little breaths
that come rapid, rapid, rapid.
I stroke its tiny ears, and then leave it alone;
I know my presence only makes it more scared.
It won't be long.
I know what something looks like when it's dying.
Tonight I kneel under the tree in the dark
and dig a hole and put the cold little body into it.
This is the first time I've buried something--I mean done it myself.
I sob like a baby, desolate.
I think, why am I crying so hard? After all, it's just a bunny.
Just!
But . . .
I held it yesterday, and
it had such sweet, tiny little paws,
and such bright eyes,
and it was so alive
and so perfect.
It was the most perfect little thing,
so soft and warm and alive
in my cupped hands.
Oh, I don't understand.
Why are the most basic things
the hardest to understand?
i must admit, my throat closed up and my eyes filled with water when i read this. but the strongest feeling i felt just now was in my heart. it felt both like it was expanding and contracting within my chest at the same time. i experienced this when i was a child - a sweet baby bunny mortally wounded by one of our cats. only i was not alone. i remember my mother sobbing and begging my dad to end it's life in a quick and mostly painless way. he refused. i remember watching my mom head out to the woods on her own with tears, despair and a bit of hatred in her eyes. she came back quietly sobbing, informing my dad that "it had been done." by the end of that year, they had divorced.
ReplyDeletei'm not sure it makes any more sense to me now than it did then. it's natural. death is natural. animals killing prey is natural. but i know it's far less painful for me when i am oblivious to it all. still, i'm not sure that it's healthier to remain oblivious rather than face the realities of the world, of which i am a part. i know this though, i am sorry you had to face that. i wish i could hug you now.