Rabbit Lesson, Part II

Ummmm, yeah, whatever, I went back to perusing the comic books.
The next day while I was getting ready for school I happened to glance out the window. We had about a full acre in front of the house and there was a cat (we didn’t have Saber at that time, another story there) prowling about. This cat was a local nuisance, routinely trashing gardens and wreaking havoc with henhouses. This time it was trying to get a nice fat bunny that was leisurely chewing some grass.
Fully expecting to have to tell my mother that there was a dead rabbit in the front yard, I watched the show, and I do mean show!
The cat stalked up on the rabbit, the rabbit just kind of wandered off a bit, not seeming to move much, then the cat stalked up a little further and, again, the rabbit reciprocated.
The third move in this dance took place and I realized that each move the rabbit made was taking it a bit closer to the wood’s edge but the cat never seemed to notice. My elbows were now perched on the window frame as I watched the game. The last move of the dance took place when the cat, losing all patience, essayed a leap for the rabbit when even I could tell that it was not going to work.
Without missing a beat, the rabbit leapt into the woods with not a glance behind, hitting the ground at a dead run.
There was about forty five seconds of the shrubs and grass thrashing about, then a loud yowl, audible even behind my window, as the cat flew from the blackberry bush, leaving behind a few tatters of fur on the stout spines.
That rabbit was one of about a dozen that liked to call my father’s newly planted orchard home. I took to watching them with my telescope, trying to understand what happened when they hit the tree line.
It took time, but I finally understood that when they went into the overgrowth, they weren’t just fleeing in blind panic, they were following a well scouted out path. They would go into their maze of trails, try to get about a turn ahead of the predator, double back and lay doggo. Watching as the predator would dash past, either losing the trail or blindly rushing into an “unpleasant situation.” Usually it was the blackberry brambles.
I have no idea how long it took me to reach this realization, I just know that it was a lot of time at my telescope (which I never complained about) watching from my room and sometimes moving it to the concealment offered by the driveway.
When I finally reached the realization, the idea immediately came to mind about how I could apply this to my own life.
The next time one of the teenaged thugs attempted to pursue me into the woodlot I followed the example of the rabbit, doubling back after gaining that one turn of distance; I then followed the advice of my father. I gained the high ground. There, I waited.
I was crouched on a tree branch which crossed over the path that we had entered on, which led back onto our street. In my possession was a piece of deadwood about the length of my arm and as thick as my thigh. As the would be miscreant came back through I swung the stick with everything I had striking his head and performing a flip that would have made Jackie Chan proud (I don’t believe he had even started his film career at that time, by the way).
He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut and didn’t move. I approached cautiously, poking him a few times to make certain he was out cold. Like my uncle (the Taoist healer) had taught me, I checked to make sure his heart was beating and that he was breathing with no difficulty. Satisfied that he would recover, I stood up. That’s when I heard his friends calling to him, wanting to know how much longer he was going to beat me, then they laughed.
Well, I don’t know why, but I got an idea and immediately put it into action, then I zipped up my pants and took refuge behind the bushes.
He never did own up, to his friends, about chasing after me, I understand that his father whupped on him pretty good for losing to “the gook,” never mind about the concussion or the flaming huge bruise between his eyes (Dad laughed himself sick, one of the only two times I ever saw him do that). What was even worse was that his darling boy had pissed himself in the process!
Life can be good sometimes, even for a little half breed kid.
There were other lessons, to be sure, but that was how the first ones taught by Grandpa Wilson and my father turned out.


It's not about anger - it's about peace
It's not about power - it's about grace
It's not about knowing your enemy - it's about knowing yourself.

the Monk