It’s 6:30AM, but I’ve already been up for over two hours. I went out early to do an eleven-mile loop through the hills of Pasadena and La Canada. While running near the Rose Bowl, before dawn, I came across a small wild rabbit that had just been hit by a car. She had one broken leg (with obvious massive fractures) and was sitting quietly in the road, helpless.
It was one of those “Oh God, why me?” moments. I’m ashamed to say that I stood there for a second, trying to decide what to do, fighting the impulse to continue my run and let another car — or a dog — finish the little creature’s life. But of course that isn’t what I could do. I sat in the road with her, talked to her for a while, and then gently stroked her. She tried to escape, ineffectually, and I could see she still had some life (as well as pain and shock) in her eyes. So I gently scooped up her broken body and carried her home. It was a mile and a half back home, and on that walk, I waited for the little one to die. So many wild creatures die quickly in these situations; prey animals usually relax into death quickly after major trauma, part of their defense mechanisms against enduring pain. But the little grey girl, so much like my chinchillas, nestled against me, still blinking, heart still beating, whiskers still moving.
With the Humane Society closed, I drove her down to my 24-hour vet in South Pasadena, wrapped in a towel. The after-hours receptionist started giving me a spiel about the office’s institutional reluctance to treat wild animals; I’ve heard that speech before. We had what in diplomatic circles is called a “frank exchange of views”, which involved my repeated requests to see the doctor on call while waving my Amex card with my free hand, insisting that I would happily pay all charges. The doctor did examine the little girl, and gave me the news I was fairly certain I would hear — the massive compound fractures were very serious, and though she still showed signs of energy, her chances of making a decent recovery from such a rear-leg injury were rare. Dogs and cats can do three legs; rabbits and chinchillas have a much tougher time when they lose a rear limb. The vet and I agreed to euthanize the rabbit, and that was done just minutes ago.
I’m still in my sweat-soaked, blood and tear-stained singlet. I’ve got to jump in the shower and go off and teach three classes, have coffee with friends after school, hit the gym for a make-up treadmill run in the early evening, dinner with other friends in the later evening, and chinchilla “out time” before bed. It will be a busy day.
I could not save this little creature’s life. But I did all that I could, all that I should have done. Death is part of nature, but cars aren’t. Had I come across an injured rabbit in the wild, I might have gritted my teeth and moved on, knowing that its little body would be food for a hungry predator soon enough. But where a human has inflicted the injury, a human must do the rescuing to the best of his or her ability. I could not save this rabbit’s life, but I know she died a gentler death than she would have otherwise. And though I know the terror that we people strike into small wild mammals, I am convinced that on our walk home, as I sang softly to the little broken girl in my arms, she found some tiny degree of comfort in the warmth of my body and the softness of my voice and the stroking of my trembling fingers.
I’m not sorry I missed my run today. I’m grateful I got the chance to be there for this creature to the best of my ultimately insufficient ability. In the end, all we can do is all we can do. I will have the feel of her weight in my arms with me for the rest of the day.
Note: I have now opened comments on this entry, but anyone who makes light of the death of an animal, or even hints at misplaced priorities, will find themselves banned.
You did a wonderful thing Hugo. “Whatsoever you do for the least of these, my brethren…”
*equips football helmet*
The after-hours receptionist started giving me a spiel about the office’s institutional reluctance to treat wild animals…
I don’t blame them. If the various shows featuring animal control departments on Animal Planet are any indication, people taking in wildlife causes all manner of problems, legality aside.
STF, thank you, that’s a kind reminder.
Craig, I wasn’t asking them to “take in” wildlife, I was asking them to treat an injured creature. Had we been able to save the bunny’s life, I would have paid the medical costs and then transferred the rabbit to one of several shelters that treat wild animals.
Alas, those shelters aren’t open at 5:45AM, which is why I went to the one place I knew I could find a vet at that hour. And I wasn’t taking no for an answer. Fortunately, the vet was willing to treat, but unable to save this precious daughter of God.
Craig, I wasn’t asking them to “take in” wildlife…
I was probably unclear. I meant there could be legal issues with *you* taking in wildlife, i.e. *after* the rabbit was treated. You could be an unlicensed breeder, for example, or a hoarder, both of which tend to result in both abuse (intentional or no) and snowballing animal populations (and, yes, I know neither of those apply to you; the receptionist probably didn’t and might well be forbidden from assuming otherwise).
I only brought this up due to how, to my reading, dismissive you seemed regarding her “spiel.”
Covered in blood and sweat with a helpless rabbit in my arms, I admit I was highly dismissive of anyone who seemed likely to try and come up with a reason why a gravely injured sentient creature ought not be treated immediately by a competent medical professional.
I was civil, mind you. But insistent.
We have an amazing woman in Nova Scotia who has completely raised the profile of wildlife rehabilitation (and their emergency care) in Nova Scotia, to the extent that during a large forest fire in the area last weekend, when hundreds of homes were threatened by fire, news agencies still took the time to interview her and ask her about the fire’s effect on wildlife and what we could do to help (Hope for Wildlife). Anyway, my point is that Hope has arrangements with the (I think only) 24-hour vet in metro to treat any wildlife that are brought in, and I know of other cities where the same situation abounds - so the idea of your 24-hr vet treating injured wildlife should not be absurd/unsafe/suspicious in the least, and it is unfortunate they would hold that policy. Especially since, if I remember the details of a lecture on planning correctly, the area you run in is reknowned for being home to a huge variety of wildlife in a unique urban-with-wild-spaces kind of area?
I know it is hard for injured rabbits in the wild, but my heart is always warmed by a particularly scrappy rabbit with three feet (right hind leg missing) and torn up ears (we think coyote-inflicted) who comes around our yard sampling plants. He’s the only one I don’t chase off (I’ve got veggies, and poppies, and hostas, etc…). I think you did a great thing.
Indeed, Livy, thanks for the link. And I do wish that the baby I tried to save today could have lived to be like your three-legged one!
Yes, the vet explained to me today she was happy to treat the rabbit; it was the receptionist who was having the problem, thankfully not the DVM.
we tend to dehumanise– if that is the word–the challenge is to practicing seeing the life force which is great within all of us.
Thank you for this story, which expresses your reverence for life very powerfully.
For an absolutely gorgeous use of the English language on the subject of stopping to help, see “Idiotarian Rottweiler”, the post on special hell.
Can’t tell you how often I’ve done just this very thing. Possums, birds, cats, raccoons, rabbits, dogs - the list goes on and on. I have picked up so many injured animals it’s kind of sad. Some survived, some did not.
Bless you for doing this thing - yours is a heart much like my own.
Haven’t your feeling for wildlife, but these auto-animal accidents are one of the “hidden” costs for heavy dependence on cars. Most people just grit their teeth at roadkill, as the very term implies, but I know the car-free and car-light folks have suggested we wouldn’t work so hard to shrug off the slaughter as an inevitable side-effect otherwise.
Hugo,
So sorry…those kinds of things absolutely destroy me…therefore, I understand your moment of indecision. I’ve had similar moments, wanting to avoid the emotional wreckage it inflicts upon me but, in the end, I have chosen as you did…and I’ve rested content at least in the knowledge (if not content at the outcome) that I’ve acted as God would want me to. My prayers for you and for her…
Nina
Hugo,
This reminds me of a similar incident that I had while driving home. I watched a car, driving too fast in the neighborhood hit a cottontail. The car and driver never stopped, but we did as we watched it run back to the side of the road and into a yard by a preschool. The kids playing in schoolyard noticed, but didn’t say a thing and didn’t seem interested. A teacher shooed them away. We had a box and placed the small rabbit inside and then took it to the nearby vet. They examined it and then came back to say that they would euthanize it as the injuries were serious. It was very sad, but I felt relieved that it wouldn’t be suffering. I’ve taken birds and other creatures to the Vet–sometimes they take them and sometimes not. There are a few wildlife rehabilitators located in the greater vicinity, but not easy to get too. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve done the very same thing. Some people seem so absolutely calloused and indifferent to the suffering of wildlife. I watched a woman let her dog loose (in a park with leash laws) and set them on some geese and their young. I’m certain she thought it funny that her dog chased the geese and terrorized them. She ignored me as I was trying to catch her attention. I told her that they were federally protected and she responded saying that he never hurt one or got one. So what. I told her again that they were federally protected and she could be fined. People like that have complete disregard for wildlife and other people and I have such a hard time understanding how they can be so cold. I seen plenty of parents set the same example. I’m glad there are people like you who care as you do. Thank you for sharing the story. (Did you ever read Watership Down or see the movie?)
Hugo, thank you for the reminder that we all have those selfish moments of indecision, where we want to be innocent bystanders rather than engaged participants. It’s far too easy to disengage from the world around us, and hearing stories such as this, complete with the pain and the reward they involve, help me to avoid doing just that.
So glad to read your account, and that you did the very best you could to offer comfort and love to a rabbit injured by us humans. I live with a wonderful house rabbit. Several times I’ve found myself apologizing to him for things that my people have done to his people. He’s always gracious about it.
What a sweetheart you are. I wish there were more men like you.
I am the “bunny lady” at the Agoura Shelter, and I have a great love for buns. They are one of the real underdogs in the world of animals. Cats can meow and dogs can bark, but the very few bunny sounds that bunnies make, are too quiet for people to hear unless you put your ear right up to the animal. They have no voice to speak to us of their pain, other than a quiet grinding of teeth that means great pain, and a clicking of the teeth which means I like what you are doing…..and the shrill cry/scream they muster at their point of extreme pain or death .
Bunnies are wonderful, all have amazing and different personalities…and all are gentle creatures who love being patted….unless they have been abused.
Thanks for caring for a bunny that needed help and couldn’t tell you. I can promise you that she was comforted by your strong arms carrying her when her legs could not do it anymore.
Vicki the bunny whisperer
Thank you so much, Vicki, for commenting. I am glad that I was able to be there for her; hurrah for the work you do with them.
ever since I read this post I’ve been thiking about this William Stafford poem. Today I finally decided to look it up and read it again.
Travelling Through the Dark
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason–
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all–my only swerving–,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
Thank you, Catie. It’s lovely and devastating all at once.