Tonight, I killed
my first animal.
It wasn't in any
kind of sacrificial, or ceremonial way.
I didn't need to
eat it or defend myself against it.
It was a complete
accident.
I know that my more
mature, experienced, and unsympathetic readers will find it utterly
ridiculous that I am so emotional about this, but emotions are real
and un-ignorable features of the human condition and right now, my
condition is slightly devastated.
Tonight, on the
ride home from work, I killed a bunny rabbit.
In my 5ish years as
a licensed driver, I have been fortunate enough to avoid accidents as
I am, by and large, a patient and intuitive driver. Still, I suppose
the statistics and the random numbers of the universe all have to add
up against you eventually. And sometimes, it adds up to the doom of
others.
It seems childish
to some, I know, to be so invested as I am, but I'm unfortunately a
largely empathic person, one who has a knack for crying at just about
anything and who can't eat ribs or lobster or anything that looks
vaguely like the creature it came from without getting anxious about
it. (I'd be a vegetarian if health and monetary concerns allowed it,
I think.) It's the same reason I don't like chocolates shaped like
animals or marshmallow peeps, or anything with that semblance of
living creatures. I don't like the idea of killing things, even for
food.
So naturally, when
I hit that poor creature on the road home, I was devastated.
It had already been
a long day, followed by a long night at work and I took my usual back
road path. I like the back roads. I like the smell of the woods and
the farm I pass on my way. I like the quiet, the echo of crickets,
and the lack of people. It reminds me of when I was a kid and I lived
in an area that wasn't a city, one that wasn't so populous or bright
or loud. But back roads, no matter where you are have always offered
their own share of hazards, including the occasional animal traveler.
It really shouldn't
be a surprise that I finally encountered one myself. But it did.
It just, appeared.
I know that seems
somewhat like a scapegoat approach. But I genuinely didn't see it one
moment, and the next, it was there and although I tried to avoid it,
twisting my steering wheel to curve around it, the rabbit, more
scared than I was, jumped in the same direction.
I felt that
traumatizing bump and I knew.
I knew.
And I started to
cry.
Pathetically, I
called my Dad who answered with calm reassurance, “It's okay.
Everyone does eventually.”
When I finally got
home, after trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to hold back the
overwhelming onslaught of emotion, I burst into tears. My father
reassured me, it's a normal reaction, I've never killed an animal
before (I mean, I've killed moths and the like, but nothing bigger
than that) It's okay to have a reaction.
But this is coming
from the guy who grew up on a farm, raising animals they later ate
for food. Needless to say, it's hard to appreciate his sentiment but
I am clinging to it all the same.
Accidents happen.
That's what I keep telling myself and I wish I could step forward in
my time and look back and realize I'll learn something from this
eventually. But right now, I can't. So for now, I'm just going to
pray, cry, and say I'm sorry.
I'm sorry you poor
rabbit. I didn't mean to hurt you.
May your body be
put to go use in the stomachs of hungry scavengers.
May your family do
well in your absence and may your spirit be calm.
I'm really, really
sorry.
