This morning started out with the gruesome discovery that I’d arrived about one minute too late to prevent a senseless murder.
Stepping onto the back porch for a quick weather check, I saw one of the rabbits who live under the bushes standing, frozen in the yard – eyes trained on something outside my line of vision. I ventured out to see what could possibly be so interesting that the rabbit wasn’t even going to acknowledge my proximity, only to witness one of my dogs “playing” with an infant bunny. I called her off and ran to check. The week-old baby was breathing, but paralyzed and bleeding from the nose.
Running for the house, I tucked the dog inside, grabbed the phone and a plastic gloves. I did the only thing I could think of then. I called the one person I knew would help me do, oh I don’t know, something to help?
Back in the yard again and standing over the still breathing baby bunny, I quickly explained the situation. What came next was completely unexpected. Instead of sympathy or some other sort of understanding, I was told to “get a shovel and deal with it.” What?
WHAT!
Hanging up, I threw the phone at the fence and picked up the little innocent, cooing, comforting, and apologizing until finally, it blinked once more then took its last little sigh of a breath. I felt somehow responsible for this loss of small, new life. I knew the rabbits were in the yard. I knew there was at least one newborn. And yet, I’d done nothing to protect it from the two dogs who share the same grass.
Yeah. I know, survival of the fittest, and all that.
“…deal with it.”
Life happens. Death, in all varieties, inevitably comes. People, animals, relationships... At some point the time to coddle, coo, and be hopeful passes and you’re left with the lifeless remains of something that “used to be.”
Somebody hand me my grown-up panties. If you need me, I’ll be figuring out how to “deal with it” on my own.
