Poor Bunny

I was enjoying a really good bowl of PW&W #191 tobacco in my Peterson Aran tobacco pipe tonight while sitting next to the dogs. It turned out to be such a beautiful evening with a light breeze and very low humidity to speak of. My two labs will sit right next to me and, though wary of the smoke drifting from my pipe, enjoy my company as much as I enjoy theirs sometimes, I believe. It was twilight, and the sky was clear except for a few small clouds floating slowly toward the southeast. The darkness was closing in and I was expecting a very quiet close to the day. Then I heard the squeals...

I used to hunt wild rabbit with my dad when I was younger. Sometimes we would run beagles and watch them zoom back and forth across the paths just a few feet out in front of us. There were so many rabbits in those mountain fields that their senses must have been overloaded. Yet they keyed in on something every time and we never went more than ten minutes before an "opportunity" came up. That's what my dad called it. An "opportunity" to shoot a rabbit.

He would always let me have the first shot or two, especially knowing that, as a young teenager, I needed to hone my skills. I remember the first few chilly outings we hunted them. I hunted with him three straight mornings and three straight mornings I didn't fire a shot. They were so fast! The beagles would spook a rabbit across the trail and I would try to aim, but he would be gone - quick as a flash! This would happen four or five times. Then my dad would gently say, "Let me show you, son." Minutes later as a rabbit would break across the trail my dad's shotgun would fire within a split second and another rabbit would cartwheel to a stop. Whenever I see a wild rabbit now I think of those few seasons of hunting rabbits with my dad in the mountains. Though I eventually got the hang of it and killed a few on my own there was nothing like watching my dad's mastery of the hunt.

The squeals I heard tonight were pretty ominous, but I instantly knew what they were. A rabbit in distress. I had a rabbit distress call (on tape, even) when hunting bobcat in the California foothills in the early 90's. I also remember the time a black snake caught a rabbit in front of our house in Winston-Salem a few years ago. And, of course, the occasional "bad shot" would injure a rabbit from time to time. So I ran out to the woods leaving the dogs behind and wondering what was up. I had expected to perhaps find another snake with a rabbit in its jaws but was surprised to see our one year old cat Sully with the baby bunny in his mouth. I called for him to come to me but I think he knew his master was going to relieve him of the rabbit. Off he went through the brush and briar and off I went after him. My legs took the brunt of it with lots of little red holes from the briars. Sully finally stopped and I reached down and grabbed the rabbit behind his ears. He was really squealing then!

I took the bunny up to the house and showed the boys. My wife said, "Get that thing away from our house!" I was unsure if we should keep it or not but after reading up on a couple of wildlife web sites I determined that he was indeed old enough to make it on his own and set him free in the woods beside our home. He hopped away just fine and seemed no worse for wear. Sully has killed (and eaten) a few other baby bunnies this spring, and I'm sure he'll catch a few more in his days, but this one lived to see another day. Hopefully Sully will focus in on mice and the moles that keep digging up the edges of our yard in the future. As for this adventure, Father's Day was a good day to have it as I remembered my Dad once again as the day was ending, and miss those times when it was just him and me, and a couple of beagles hot on the trail of another rabbit.