Rabbit hunting

Last night we had rabbit pie for dinner, cooked by my sister-in-law, Diana. It was yummy. All night it was referred to as 'meat' pie in case the idea of eating lil' bunnies was too much for the kids to take. However, some people let the rabbit out of the hat, and the kid's didn't seem to care. There's a disconnect there between the name of an animal and the name of food. They have the same word for both, but the kids don't have enough knowledge at their current ages to put in the intervening steps.

It did remind me of the one time I was taken rabbit hunting. My father decided we were going to shoot some rabbits. With impeccable timing he took me along just after I had finished reading Watership Down.

We travelled to a farm that we had been invited to hunt at,. We then tromped off into the bush at the back of the farm ... which just shows how skilled and knowledgeable we were regarding rabbits.

Oddly enough, the bush was devoid of rabbits. We did startle a goat, which for reasons I cannot remember we didn't shoot.

Eventually we arrived back at the farmhouse, tired and rabbitless. That's when the farmer laughed at us, and said he'd intended for us to sit on his front porch and blast away at the rabbits all over the paddock there.

The place was filled with rabbits. From his front door we could see dozens, maybe hundreds of rabbits all happily playing on the grass ... totally unaware that two men and a boy were standing there with leaden doom waiting for them.

We went home without firing a shot.

I think even my father thought there was something unsportsmanlike about sitting on a porch chair shooting unsuspecting rabbits.

Fiver got to live another day.

Picture by Guy Landry