Why I No Longer Eat Meat

I find myself thinking about the rabbit I once killed, the one I didn’t strike properly. I missed with the wrench I was using, hitting her on the crown of her head instead of the base of the skull. I still hear her scream. Then I was numb in my anguish but I remember that scream, those terrified eyes roaming madly around in her ruined head and knowing I had done a terrible thing to I creature I’d raised. I had no way to take back what I’d done, could only crush the rabbit’s brain stem to end it.

It took two more strikes to do, my eyes obscured by tears and it thrashing as I hesitated. I hated that rabbit for what I had done. Now, I don’t know. It haunts me still. I see the smooth stomachs of Morgan and Oliver, remember that of the rabbit’s and remember the place where my knife plunged in, and the warmth of its guts as they spilled out of the hole. I see their legs and recall the blinding white of the rabbit’s bones, deftly severed after the pelt was pulled off the body. I see my beloved dogs, so much like children to me, and I think of that rabbit and its scream.