Here, bunny bunny bunny.
Never mind the bravado. I am not yet sure I will be able to club one!
I killed a baby bunny the other day. My cat had stripped its back half of fur and skin, yet somehow it was alive and still hopping. I snatched it up easily while the cat was letting it hide in the irises. Poor thing, small and soft! I let my cats run free but am usually not faced with the reality of predation … nothing still kicking, at least. I struck the bunny’s head with a heavy stick in the yard and put it in the trash with sadness, but no ceremony. It was far too small to eat.
Yet I keep on eating meat, and tonight have set out traps with carrots. It is a blessing that meat looks so little like animals, isn’t it? How should I reconcile those two impulses, to avoid hurting a creature and to sup on delicious hare? We Western suburbia-raised humans are so unprepared for this question … Probably there is a German word that captures the sadness of snuffing a life and the hunger for the delicacy. A compound like “bittersweet”: “sadbloodthirsty,” or “guiltyummy.” But sometimes we must forge ahead despite misgivings. Perhaps it will be good for me. I flirt with moral consistency, but only because of the possibility of rabbit pie.