The Incident of the Rabbit on the Road

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.