The Rabbit's Foot

I suppose that each generation of young people has certain fads they remember, like pet rocks or cinnamon-soaked toothpicks or wax candy pop bottles with sugary liquid inside or penny loafers with real pennies tucked safely on the tops or bell-bottomed pants or belts with fringe or a colored rabbit's foot on your keychain ... mine was blue. Though I have no idea why now, back when I was in junior high, a rabbit's foot was supposed to bring the person who carried it good luck ... hence the term "a lucky rabbit's foot" ... kind of like a four-leaf clover with fur, I guess. Now that I'm older and have a much greater appreciation for the lives of the creatures within the animal kingdom, I find myself hoping that those furry items that adorned so many backpacks and keychains when I was young weren't real feet from real rabbits ... I surely hope they weren't. And as far as an item that possesses the power to bring forth good luck to its bearer ... well, that's just pure hogwash as far as I'm concerned.

Just like I have a morning routine, I have an evening one as well. I come home, let Julie and Ollie out into the back yard to potty, bring them inside, feed them, eat my own dinner, take Ollie for a walk, play with Julie, write a blog post, let the dogs out again and go to bed. That's what I do every single night when I come home from work ... except for tonight. When I let Julie and Ollie out the door that opens from my garage into the yard, Oliver races like the wind to the back corner of the yard ... the corner where brave (or just plain dumb) rabbits venture through the gap in the fence and enter our yard. Before Julie even got from the door to the yard, I heard it and I saw it ... a screaming rabbit and a crazed wiener dog. I ran to the corner as quickly as I could shouting, "No! Oliver! No! No! No! Drop it! Drop it! No, Ollie, no, no, no!!!" My neighbor and his children were outside ... the kids were freaking out, I was shouting at Ollie, the rabbit was screeching and Julie was calmly pooping on the other side of the yard. Oh yeah ... a very fun way to begin a Friday evening for sure.

When I got to Ollie, I was thankful that he didn't have the rabbit by the neck as he usually does, and I grabbed his collar and tried desperately to get him to let go of the rabbit's foot, which my mighty hunter dog had no intention of doing. I finally managed to pry his jaws apart and free the wounded bunny who immediately hopped away ... leaving behind ... well ... suffice it to say that Mr. Bunny left part of himself behind with Oliver which I then had to force Ollie to drop. Again ... such a fun and memorable start to the weekend. A friend had texted me earlier this afternoon to ask if I'd like some company on my walk this evening, and as I recounted yet another Oliver vs. a rabbit story, I thought about what the scene must have looked like to my poor neighbor and his children ... sheesh. And as I type these words, the same wiener dog who just a few hours ago was trying his best to eat a giant rabbit in his yard is curled up next to me sleeping sweetly and soundly.

Tonight, a comment my neighbor made after the Ollie/rabbit battle ended is stuck in my mind ... a comment that has caused me to think a lot about perspective. He was smiling as he said, "Maybe Ollie was trying to play with the rabbit ... maybe he wasn't trying to hurt it at all. Maybe he just thought he was playing." The truth is that I don't know if Ollie intends to kill the rabbits in our yard or not ... perhaps him attacking the poor rabbits is nothing more than his hunter dog instinct that is bred deep within him coming to the surface. Perhaps he really does see the rabbits as a bigger version of his favorite stuffed animal toy that he tosses around my living room. But whether it's instinct or his attempt at play, Ollie leaves the rabbits wounded or dying by his actions.

I can't help but think about the way we treat one another, friends ... about the words we speak to each other. I can't help but think that at times we say we are playing when we aren't playing at all ... I can't help but think about how often we leave one another wounded and dying by our actions and our words. If our instinct is to hunt and kill ... what does that say about our hearts? Think about that one for a while ... think about it for a long while.