"The Prey"

Some years ago I wrote this short story about my encounter with one of nature's most endearing creatures, a small bunny. I recounted this incident to my friend, Carolyn Rose, who encouraged me to venture out into the world of writing. Her talent and guidance are largely responsible for this piece. My niece encouraged me to reprint it for distribution on this blog. I hope you enjoy it.

It was one of those hot, dry days that summer spawns on the western slope of the Cascade Range after the spring rains subside. The relentless wind sucks the life blood out of the lush, green landscape, leaving it brown and rough like the hands of a lumberjack. The soft carpet of grass has turned into a lifeless mass. My footsteps raise minor dust clouds around my feet. As I walk over it, it sounds like crumpling tissue paper at a child’s birthday party.

I had just finished mowing the lawn and I was covered with dust, grass clippings and evergreen needles. As I walked to the backdoor of the house I could feel the grit in my eyes. My sinuses burned. My parched mouth was like parchment. A growing sunburn on the back of my neck was beginning to radiate heat.

I poured a big tumbler full of iced tea and relaxed in a big chair to watch the national news of the day. The tea had a clean, crisp taste. The resonate voice and metered words of Dan Rather intoned a litany of major domestic and world events, little of which was the least bit uplifting. It sounded as if the whole world was on one gigantic killing spree. Will it ever stop?

A sudden movement disturbed my peripheral vision. I turned to look out the glass door. There was one of the family cats, waiting anxiously to show me her prize catch of the day – a baby rabbit about six inches long. I hastily jumped to my feet, opened the door and shouted at the cat. My reaction startled her. She dropped the little, furry bit of life. He struggled to drag his limp hind legs behind a bucket of water placed there for the dog. I was sure he was paralyzed. I was overcome by an overwhelming sense of sadness as I watched his valiant struggle to survive the ordeal.

I couldn’t fault the cat. She was only doing what nature had programmed her for – to be a consummate predator. She was bringing her catch to proudly show her master; a gift for one higher up in the predatory chain.

As I carefully picked up the bunny and took it with me to the overstuffed chair where I had been sitting, I thought how fragile all life seems to be, particularly in today’s world. I checked him over but I could find no puncture wounds. His heart was racing, he eyes were dilated and he struggled to free himself from my grasp. I sat down and cradled him in my arm close to my body. He snuggled in and I could feel his heart rate returning to normal. Within a few minutes his eyes were back to a soft brown and he ceased to resist my attempts at holding him. I gently stroked his ears. His coat was soft as down. I knew our time together would be limited, but I was enjoying the moment.

The predator – prey relationship is one that has always mystified me. Domestic cats typify the predator. They hunt whether they are hungry or not. The thrill and the excitement of the chase and the kill seem to be the essence of their nature. Now, mind you, I like cats but I don’t understand why they have to be so cunning and stealthy. “How is that tiny rabbit anything but prey?” I asked myself, when all he covets is, perhaps, a meadow filled with sweet clover or stolen bounty from a carrot patch? Why must his lot in life be the fear of discovery, the panic of the chase and the sting of death? Why is it all so one sided and seemingly unfair?

There is a wonderful bond that develops between a wild animal and a man when fate brings them together, no matter what the circumstances may be. Perhaps it is special because it is so rare, so fleeting but so profound. It is like the doe that lingers with her new fawn for just a bit longer than expected as if to say to us, “Isn’t he just the grandest thing you’ve every seen?” Or the bond we feel with a coyote that pauses for one last attenuated stare before retreating into the safety of the tall grass. No matter how it happens, there is an overwhelming sense at having been a part of something extraordinary.

A person has to be unusually calloused not to be touched by the baby of any fur-bearing animal. Maybe they reminds us of a favorite stuffed toy from our childhood or of our own vulnerability when we were children. No matter the reason, we almost always seem to instinctively want to cuddle and protect them. I thought about the softer side of our human nature. I am convinced that is the essence of the Divine Master within us.

As I looked down at that tiny life snuggled so close to my body, I knew I had to face the reality of the situation. I could have kept him forever, but that is not where he belonged. I felt a slight lump in my throat as I wondered if he would be able to hop to safety. If he could not, I knew I would have to show him mercy by putting him out of his misery. It occurred to me that an act of mercy can often be infinitely more painful than an act of violence.

Religions preach that God lives within each of us. The quintessential struggle we all carry through life, that between good and evil, reminds us of that perhaps more often than we would like. Mercy carries the sword of compassion; vengeance carries the sword of destruction. Our Creator demands the former and the strength to overcome the latter. “Not a bad reminder brought on by a small rabbit,” I thought.

As much as I hated to shatter the spell of that very special encounter, I knew I had to take him outside and give him a chance to go free. I slowly stood. He didn’t struggle to break free. I went outside, knelt down and gently paced him in the grass. He made no attempt to move. My heart raced at the thought of having to administer the coup de grace because of his inability to take the leap to freedom. I lingered longer than I should, gently stroking his ears and back, but he remained motionless. Finally, as I got up to go inside and get the gun, he suddenly stood erect and hopped off at great speed into the woods. A broad smile crossed my face.

The last I saw of that little rabbit was his small, white cotton tail fading into the rich greenery of the forest. I couldn’t help but wonder if he would live today only to become the prey of tomorrow. I didn’t really want to think about that, but the predator lost this round and I was glad.

I have never quite come to terms as to why God’s Plan requires that the life of a gentle creature must be sacrificed in order that the aggressor might survive. That seems to be the destiny of the rabbit, the gazelle and the lamb – all for the sake of the cat, the lion and the man.


Cowboy Bob
July 2001