While we were trying our best to ease Poof's discomfort, we were reminded over and over that our special little man, the Magic Rabbit himself, would be seen by many as nothing more than a luxury meal or the makings of a high-end sweater; a bundle of meat covered in the softest fur.
White Rabbit, photo: Jocelyn Zaretsky, Gentle World
Yesterday, while staying in my home town of Wellington, New Zealand,
I visited an historic house constructed in the 1800s. The ‘Colonial
Cottage’ had housed children and grandchildren of the original
settlers who built it, until it was bequeathed to the city in the
1960s.
As we came down a set of narrow steps and through an old wooden
door, our guide informed us that we were now stepping into the ‘wet
kitchen’. In the next few moments, I was about to find myself face
to face with a dead rabbit, his perfectly preserved body hanging
from the ceiling as part of the educational tour.
I’ve written about rabbits before, once when teenaged Petland
employee Elizabeth Carlisle killed two of them and was vilified as a
perpetrator of animal abuse, and once when NPR celebrated the
history of a restaurant famous with local diners for a menu that
revolved around rabbit meat. An example of our society’s confusion
about animal ethics? I believe so.
Earlier this year, I wanted to write about rabbits again when the
animal advocacy world went crazy over Whole Foods selling rabbit
meat in its stores, claiming that, unlike other ‘food animals’,
rabbits are seen as companions.
Having known rabbits as family members, it’s hard not to feel that
the trend toward rabbit meat as the latest ‘sustainable food fad’ is
particularly grotesque, but the fact is that we humans are
remarkably hypocritical when it comes to the question of which
animals should be passionately protected and which we value as
nothing more than a source of gratifying flavors and textures.
As this article from The Atlantic demonstrates, there are plenty of
people who aren’t any more concerned about rabbits than your average
person is about cows, chickens, pigs, sheep, or any of the other
sentient and aware individuals who are typically seen as nothing but
‘food animals’.
Mark and Myriam Pasternak are the owners of Devil’s Gulch Ranch in
Marin County, California. According to The Atlantic, the Pasternaks
‘process’ 10,000 rabbits a year, to sell to over a hundred high-end
restaurants. According to Mark:
“Rabbits are easy to raise and butcher in your backyard, they’re
light on the environment, and their meat is lean and low in
cholesterol.”
In 2010, when the NY Times published Don’t Tell the Kids, a story
about the new trend toward DIY slaughter that profiled a ‘rabbit
killing seminar’ held in Brooklyn, the facilitator of the class was
quoted as saying:
“Today is a somber day because we are going to be killing rabbits…
But I am always psyched after slaughter because I’m like, now I’m
going to eat.”
My run-in with yesterday’s taxidermied body came on the heels of a
particularly profound experience for me. Last month, as my friends
and I prepared for a vegan event and our subsequent departure for
our New Zealand location, we watched as our family rabbit Poof came
to the end of a difficult battle with various challenges that old
age had brought.
After being abandoned by our neighbors nine years ago, Poof had been
taken to a local kill shelter. We knew him from the neighborhood,
and from the times we had spotted him foraging in our veggie garden
after he had been allowed to run free (see picture above… That’s one
of our veganic kale seedlings he’s decimating!) When we heard about
his new situation, we could accept no other outcome than for him to
come home with us. And so he did, becoming Poof the Magic Rabbit,
with his very own theme song to go along with the name.
When Poof was young and healthy, he had an exuberance that could
make you laugh out loud. Our happiest times with him were when we
were all together in a group, and he would get so excited he would
jump up in the air, kick his heels, and sometimes even do a twirl in
mid-leap. If he was in a particularly good mood in the morning,
sometimes he would give some lucky person what we called a ‘bunny
blessing’, running around and around him or her in ecstatic circles.
And right up until the very end, a gentle rub between the ears or a
handful of lentil sprouts could send him into a state of bliss.
Despite a slightly aloof nature, and a lack of interest in being
held or caressed (until his later years, when he learned the
pleasure of physical affection) he gave us so much joy and laughter
that it was hard for us to imagine not having him in our lives
anymore. There were times when I would watch Poof hop away, turning
his adorable little tush to me, or lifting himself up on his furry
little feet to stand on two legs, and I was filled with a feeling of
so much happiness and love that it was almost hard to contain.
But time passes, and it passes particularly quickly for rabbits, for
whom making it to the age of ten is quite a feat. In his old age,
Poof battled some physical challenges that threatened to end his
time with us even earlier. But he had the constitution of someone
much, much bigger, and despite the prognoses of everyone we inquired
of, he beat the odds and survived for another year with amazing
vitality.
In his final days, as his little body became increasingly frail, we
did everything we could to try and keep him comfortable and cared
for while he made his way toward a different stage of existence that
we do not yet understand. We bathed him, tended to his physical
needs, and tried all sorts of creative techniques to keep him
interested in eating and drinking. Our biggest fear was that his
ending would be painful, that he would suffer, and that we would be
forced to make a decision for him that we didn’t feel was ours to
make.
But one of the strange things about caring for a rabbit as a
companion is that even the research we did for his well-being was a
reminder of the peculiar, ‘dual-citizen’ status that rabbits have in
our culture. In amongst information for how to properly care for
your rabbit, you can find yourself being informed about how to raise
them for food, and a simple search for veterinary advice can lead
you to instructions for killing them quickly.
While we were trying our best to ease his discomfort, we were
reminded over and over that our special little man, the Magic Rabbit
himself, would be seen by many as nothing more than a luxury meal or
the makings of a high-end sweater; a bundle of meat covered in the
softest fur.
And so it is with everyone who is reduced to nothing more than the
sum of their body parts. We may tell ourselves that they’re simply
‘food animals’, but the truth is that each one has a personality, a
collection of their own special qualities, and the potential to
bring love to a person’s world.
Thankfully we were not called upon to end Poof’s life before it was
time, and he went to the other side when he was ready to do so, or
so we believe. As for us, we’ve each found our own way to say
goodbye, and we just hope that we gave little Poof as much as he
gave to us, though it’s hard to imagine how such a thing could be
possible.