Get That Rabbit
Shooting rabbits was encouraged by my grandmother.
In my teen I visited her country farm often. The country farm house was far from the highway and surrounded by State forest land. This setting provided a great opportunity to interact with nature. After the recession, harvesting food from the land offered helped to make ends meet. Berries, mushrooms, fruits, and wild roots, were gathered from the woods. Occasionally an animal was taken for food and added protein to the soup. Grandma, with her family, maintained large flowerbeds and a garden next to the house. Grandma’s flowerbeds and rabbits did not mix well.
If a rabbit was seen feasting on grandma’s flowers or vegetables, it was a fact of life; its days were numbered. “Get that rabbit”, we were told.
Dad and most of his brothers were hunters. As far as I know they were all good shots. Much of the time they were off working somewhere however, and it sometimes fell on my 12 year old shoulders to do something about those rabbits. Next to the front door was the family gun rack. Shotguns, deer rifles, and even a 22 lay ready for use. If some wild animal made a pest of itself or if the soup kettle needed ingredients, it was just a matter of selecting the right tool. Getting rid of those rabbits was a great job.
During the winter it was easy.
With snow on the ground, I just had to follow the rabbit’s tracks until I found where it hung out. Normally this now became a two-person job since many of the rabbits either hid out under the chicken coup or in one of the many wood piles. One of us would jump on the woodpile while the other waited with the shotgun for the rabbit to get frightened and leave. Seldom did we have to pull the woodpile apart to convince a rabbit to run. If we woke up early, we might just sneak out and surprise the rabbit. It sure beat doing all that jumping. Those still sleeping would soon be awake however they would at least have the satisfaction of knowing that dinner would be tasty.
The chicken coup was easy to hunt. It was built by laying down logs parallel to each other about three feet apart and then using the logs as a foundation by nailing floor boards onto it.
Rabbits would feast in the garden during the night and then sneak under the chicken coup until it got dark again. Once we found their hiding spot, we simply got a long two by four and left it next to the chicken coup. We would walk to the end of the building and peer into each log spacing to see if the proper silhouette was there and if so, go get the two by four and someone to use the shotgun. Thrusting the board into the opening usually caused the rabbit to bolt into the open where we could then take it for dinner. One of my early hunting lessons was to be able to tell a skunk silhouette from a rabbit.
My learning experience was memorable and fragrant.
Making a major mistake in rabbit/skunk identification was not a mistake one was likely to make twice.
There was a certain satisfaction of taking those rabbits, especially when presenting them to grandma. She would make me feel like I was ridding the world of some terrible beast and that this beast was doing major injustice to the world and especially her flowerbed. After having a few years of reflection behind me, I now suspect that she may have just used the rabbit sighting as a convenient way of planning dinner and then used selling skills to help get the ingredients. She raised nine of her own sons plus a daughter on the farm.
Grandma took a great deal of satisfaction of watching her boys become men.
