Yesterday while out on a walk, I encountered a little rabbit laying prone in the grass along the path.
It only shuffled a bit as I approached despite its hind legs kicking feverishly. Attempts to scamper off were hindered by what seemed to be an injury to the front legs.
I picked it up.
Two years earlier near here, a friend and I encountered a goose with a large fishing lure hooked into its web foot. After removing it, she drove that bird 45 minutes away to the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center in Roseville, the only one of its kind in the Twin Cities.
Yesterday, I was compelled to do the same with this bunny.
I walked home and made up a box lined with old T-shirts. Returning to the rabbit, I placed it inside, gave it a little water which it didn't drink, and then placed the box on the passenger’s side floor of my car.
During breaks in the drive, I tried to calm the little creature and its occasional attempts to jump out of the box, which were futile despite the short walls. Walking into the rehabilitation center, workers thanked me for coming while attending to other walk-ins.
One 50-something woman entered right behind me with a rabbit of her own. Another woman in her 30s in the lobby had brought a family of orphaned ducklings whose mother was hit on the highway. She lamented the cruelty of humans, sarcastically saying we are the most intelligent and compassionate species.
“Well, we have the most potential,” I said. “For good and for bad.”
I thought of my own yesterday when it comes to animals. I can be struck by this need to care; I can be indifferent (perhaps depending on the species); I can be angry depending on my mood or the situation. (And this doesn’t even get to the hunting and eating of these very same animals. Heck, I just saw a video ranking the nutritional value of meats, which put rabbit at the top of the list!)
I’m not sure what this says about me or about rabbits or about humans, but I was as struck by this apparent inconsistency as I was by how much I wanted to help this little animal. I drove it all this way to try to save its life, which one could argue was even a pointless act. I doubt they’re going to set the bones or cast a broken limb. But I figured they could at least put it to sleep a little more calmly, so it wouldn’t endure so much pain and fear in its remaining moments.
When I found the rabbit, I called a friend who does volunteer wildlife rescue. (I came to find all those I talked to at the rehabilitation center were volunteers—bless their hearts, each of them.)
She suggested I act quick, as sometimes these animals don’t have much time. When gathering my things at home before heading out, I thought maybe it was already too late. As the rabbit waited in its box on my countertop, that wide-open alertness in its eyes I saw outside now appeared as a sleepy half-open. I wondered if it might be going to sleep for good—how I might be witnessing this energy of life escaping.
What an indescribably precious, miraculous energy life is, I thought, giving movement and warmth and interaction to these beings. Might this be the moment it leaves this once animated body? But it perked back up when in the car, and I’ll follow up with the wildlife center to see what they could do. Either way, I know it was in good hands.
I also know it added purpose to my day. I had two work meetings scheduled for yesterday afternoon both postpone just before setting out for that walk. Touched by this little creature, I devoted these hours to helping it, and I felt good doing so—for listening to that part of me that was moved to serve and care.
Some animals just have a way of affecting us humans. I don’t know why some species more than others. But it’s a beautiful thing when one does.