Rural Reflections: God save the bunnies
Farm life. Adventure every day. Excitement around every corner. Memories that both you and I just might share. And, if we don't share them, then step into the life of a girl who lived back the lane.
Hunting season. Hm. Quite a mystery to a girl whose father taught her to protect wild bunnies, to preserve wildlife and to be a keeper of nature, not a destroyer. Another hm. Hunting season.
So here we have this man picking up a gun to go kill one of those soft little bunnies similar to those he had shown me in the field covered with a soft blanket of leaves and fur. And it wasn't as if we needed food on the table.
My sisters and I raised rabbits. The rabbit hutches sat along the side of the chicken yard. Fresh meat was 70 paces from the house. However, I came to believe that maybe, just maybe, Dad sabotaged his hunting treks on purpose.
Always following Dad around had never included a gun and bunnies. So, at my ripe old age of about 6, Dad decided to take me along on the hunt.
This was to be the first of his two hunting trips. The man with the rifle searched the fields and woods for little hoppers. His sidekick walked behind him, talking a mile a minute and tromping as noisily as she could.
Hunter came home bunniless. Job well done, Pam. Oh, by the way, I was not invited to go hunting again.
Animal killing trip two: Dad and his faithful, white-and-butterscotch-colored cocker spaniel Whitey were up early and off to hunt the cotton-tailed beasts. I knew that if Whitey saw a rabbit, he would chase it away from Dad, so, obviously, Dad didn't expect much success.
On this fateful morning, a harmless bunny was taking an early hop when along came the deadly duo. Whitey was so excited that he immediately had a heart attack. Again, Dad came home empty-handed. Oh, wait. Dad came home carrying the dog. No fresh meat for the table, and the dog lived.
Poor Dad. He didn't have boys to join him in the hunt and had the unfortunate luck to have a dog with a weak heart. Personally, I think God answered the prayers of a little girl.
God save the bunnies.
Pamela Loxley Drake is a Beaverton resident and self-described lifelong "farm girl."
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