The following contains graphic descriptions and harsh language. May not be suitable for all ages.
The campsite in Dinosaur National Monument, CO was around 12 miles down a dark side road. We were out in the middle of nowhere and with little options we decided to go for it.
Leading the way, I had just reached our moped’s cruising speed of 30 m.p.h. when a rabbit darted into the small column of light coming from my headlamp. The rabbit doubled back while I simultaneously slammed on my brakes.
Kevin was riding behind me and to the right. Seeing another headlamp charging directly towards it, the rabbit made one last effort to avoid us. Leaping into the air, the rabbit collided with Kevin’s left leg, bounced off it and slammed onto the dark, black pavement.
I grabbed the video camera out of Kevin’s backpack, while he struggled to form a sentence in his disbelief. I pulled a u-turn and road over to the rabbit, leaving Kevin in his state of shock.
It’s belly lifted and fell as it struggled to breath. A small amount of dark, red, blood began to trickle out of its mouth. This animal was suffering and all I was doing was filming it. We needed to put the rabbit out of its misery.
“Oh fuck! Ohhh! Oh dude,” Kevin’s voice grew louder as he approached.
“We really should probably just kill it,” I said
“How’d it die?” Kevin said in his shock.
“It’s not dead! It’s fucking dying!” I yelled.
“Fuck dude. Alright, I’ll do it. Fuck. Hey. Oh man, I’m so sad,” Kevin said.
“Straight up got to slight it’s throat,” I said.
“Can I have your blade? Fuck dude. Oh man,” Kevin said.
The knife clicked open. Kevin bent over, his hand shaking slightly, and brought the knife towards the rabbit’s throat. Just inches away, the rabbit jerked with what little energy it had left, startling us both.
I put my foot across the dieing animal’s stomach to keep it still. Kevin brought the knife in again and stabbed at the rabbit’s throat.
Once. Still moving. Twice. Still moving.
“Come on man,” I said. “Do it harder.”
Third time. The rabbit grew still. Its eye bulged out of the socket and its tiny mouth locked open.
I looked into the viewfinder of the camera and the screen was black. Our battery had died along side the rabbit.
We stood, staring at the corpse. The knife was covered in hair and blood. Three open stab wounds on the rabbit’s neck stared back at us.
“B-b-b-be careful of the wildlife during the night,” an old man stuttered at a coffee shop in Vernal, UT earlier that day.
“I know its summer, but for some reason those animals still come out all night.”
His voice echoed in my mind.
Just two days prior I had pulled over on the side of the road and cut a foot off of a dead rabbit. I wanted a lucky rabbit’s foot.
The lucky rabbit’s foot originated as a means of protection from hoodoo, which is a curse in African-American folklore. In order for a rabbit’s foot to be considered a charm it must meet specific criteria. The rabbit must be captured and killed in a cemetery (we were in a Dinosaur cemetery after all) and one must cut off the left hind foot under the light of a full moon.
An approaching truck forced me to grab the rabbit’s hind legs and drag it out of the road.
My phone rang. It was Tom, the photographer on the trip. He drives our Scion Support Vehicle so he was ahead of us and already at the campsite.
“Watch out for deer and rabbits,” he said.
“Oh really,” I said with a smirk.
“I think I hit a rabbit on my way out. Try to see if you can find it on the way.”
“Ok, see you soon.”
We tied the rabbit up, put it in a plastic bag and headed towards the campsite. Our senses were heightened as we rode side-by-side at a much slower speed. By the time we finally made it to the campsite our eyes burned from exhaustion. I told Tom that I wanted to interview him, by the light of the Scion, about his experience with the rabbit he had hit.
Tom started to tell me about his incident, while Kevin grabbed his rabbit. Kevin was holding the rabbit by a rope tied around its hind legs as he came up behind Tom.
“What! Did it look like that guy?” I said as I pointed to the rabbit that Kevin was holding up next to Tom.
“Ahhhhhhh, fuck! Ahhhh,” Tom yelled as he jumped up. After much explaining, we all gathered around the rabbit.
With the grey moon looking down on us Tom held the camera, I held the flashlights and Kevin took out his knife.
The blade pushed against the left hind foot of the rabbit. A couple moments passed and then a soft crack, like a tortilla chip crunching, filled the night air. Kevin picked up the foot and smiled.
“It’s really soft. That’s nuts,” Kevin said as he ran his fingers in between the rabbit’s petite claws.
“Sorry guy.”
- Nick Girard