In life, there are many things that look as though they are going to cause us discomfort. Typically we avoid them. Sometimes we puff out our chests and carry forward as though we are impervious to the experiences.

Today I’d like to share my first ‘rabbit harvest’ with you.

 

 

It’s not just a story of what’s probably the most uncomfortable way to kill your food. It’s also a story in understanding that the difficult experiences reconnect us to the world around us.

We stood before the cages looking on at the unsuspecting rabbits–3 young bucks ready for harvest. It had been a lot of work and waiting to get to this moment.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road. Are you ready for this?!” Jason bellowed. “You betcha! Really looking forward to today,” I responded. Jason let out a laugh, “We’ll see how you’re doin’ when the dust–fur–settles.”

The chickens softly clucked with tilted heads looking on with accusatory stares. The other rabbits became visibly nervous as they randomly sprung around inside their cages.

Jason held the box as I opened each cage, reached in, and pulled out dinner–or what was to become dinner. As I placed each rabbit in the box the experience became surreal.

These animals had been part of my daily routine. Every morning a half a cup of oats and a few scratches between the ears. Every evening a cup of feed, a few more scratches between the ears, a gentle stroking of their head.

It’s an odd feeling to consider that we raised these animals for four months. Now we’re going to slaughter them and eat them.

We loaded up the box of startled and confused young bucks into the back of my truck and headed for my house.

Once home, we began to set up our work station. A folding table was brought out. Then plastic sheeting laid over the table. Next two sets of knives laid out. Finally the plastic aprons were put on.

The sound of bunnies investigating their odd new surrounds could be heard through the process.

The sense of a Dexter episode was not lost on us and the jokes began to fly. Somehow they helped.

This was not the first time I’d killed an animal. In college I’d gone hunting many times. But the time spent outdoors were always more pleasurable than the time spent pulling the trigger. There was no emotional reaction to the final result. It just felt empty–like pulling a lever.

There was to be no rifle to do my dirty work this time…

“I still say you need to do it by hand,” Jason said with a tone and look meant to challenge. “You’re going to want to know how to do this …the hard way. We’ll use a kill board next time. This time I want you to feel and understand what you’re doing.”

I opened the box and grabbed the first buck I could reach. He was a hefty boy obviously well fed and used to a life of leisure free of concern.

It was time for the instruction. Jason carefully demonstrated what really didn’t seem all that complicated–at first.

“Place your hands with your thumb and index finger around the neck. Pull and twist at the same time. Do it quick and hard! The rabbit won’t feel …much.”

As instructed, I placed my hands around the rabbits neck, pulled, and pulled. “NO! Twist quick,” Jason shouted. The rabbit looked up eyes straight until I finally twisted its head and body in opposing directions. I could feel the snapping of delicate neck bones in my hands as I twisted.

“SHIT! It’s still moving–FUCK FUCK FUCK,” I exclaimed.

Jason called back, “No, it’s gone. That’s just the nervous system. It’s going to twitch for a bit.”

I laid the rabbit down on the table and stared for a moment.

“Two more to go!” Jason shouted as he laughed.

The process was repeated two more times before we began to dress out the now only occasionally twitching animals. Shortly after each taking a rabbit to skin Jason turned to me and said, “Look at me.” As I looked up he slapped me across the face leaving a bloody handprint.

“NOW you’re a survivalist! You can kill shit with your bare hands. Kidding aside, how you doin’?”

I thought for a moment–even dug down deep to search for an authentic response. “Uhmmm. Weird. It’s not like taking a deer you’ve never met till the moment you pull the trigger. It, it… has more depth.”

Jason nodded back knowingly, pointed his knife at the rabbit I was skinning, told me to get back to work, and finished the moment off with a “Little girl.”

Later that night Jason and I sat around table covered in every rabbit dish imaginable and our girlfriends on either side. And as we sat eating, drinking, and laughing, I found my thoughts settling on the experience of the day.

This meat did not come wrapped in plastic from the freezer section of a big bright store detached from reality and a life. This meat had a life–one I knew well. It had markings that differentiated it from it’s seemingly identical brothers also on the table.

I’ve never taken a meal for granted since.