Pulling into the church parking lot this morning I saw a crow pecking at a rabbit. The crow flew away as I got closer, and the rabbit tried to drag itself away. It had most likely been hit by a car. Back legs smashed, intestines extruding. This was what the crow had been eating.
I stopped the car and got out. The rabbit, propped up on its front legs, looked steadily at me. Didn't seem to be afraid. I studied it (him/her?).
Beyond repair.
There was a small pile of logs nearby, leftover from brush removal this past weekend. I walked over and picked one up and came back and squatted close to the rabbit.
I don't know any prayers or blessings to say before what I did next. All I knew to do was to keep looking at those wide brown glistening eyes for a good long while and to feel the deep sadness of both what had happened and was going to.
I said as evenly as possible, 'I'm so sorry,' then hit him on the head as sharply as possible. Then twice more to make certain.
The words that rose up were, 'you put it out of its misery,' which is true enough. But in doing it I seem to have taken into myself a good dose of misery too.
--
Thanks to Linda Kinnear, another reflection:
Traveling Through the Dark, William Stafford
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
