3. W.I.H.E. Festival: Dis-Member - Peter Houtsager - Plumpton, England

 The Rook, the Rabbit, and the Rover

By Pim (1 Oct 2019)

 

Every weekday in the early morning Ezinda, Rose, and I load into the VW and drive one mile to Plumpton Station. Ezinda out, train to Victoria. Rose and I continue to the playing fields, we out, morning walk. Rose and I trek the edges of the playing fields, then cut through a browning barley field, over train tracks, around Novington Estate fishing pond and back. Every so often, chase a rabbit. Nice, no problem, dog and human in their own little society, at one with the natural world (stretching idea of nature here but there’s brambles and birds and bees, and you know what I mean).

A few weeks ago we were a walking along our playing field edge, lovely early morning sun,dewy grass sparkling, and a tween rabbit hops out of the hedge, not 20 meters in front of us. Didn’t even look around, no sense of danger. We freeze, then Rosie goes into stalk, slowly raise, left leg, wait, lower left leg, wait, lift right rear leg, slowly, wait, lower leg, wait, wait,.... I stay put, let nature run its course, instincts are instincts and so on. 10 meters, stop, 8 meters, stop, 7…, stop, coil … spring, chase chase, turn left, chase, right, chase, and then in slow motion up left paw and down left paw on rabbit’s tail, and adrenaline filled Rosie loomsover the rabbit’s tiny furry body. Oops. “Rose! Leave! Come, come here, here!” Rabbit stays still, Rosie sniff, nose-nudge little body, sniff. Nothing. Rose looks over her shoulder at me, eyebrows raised questioning, and then trots off. 

The rabbit stays dead still, and I walk over and I can see the little chest rising and falling, no blood, no oddly tangled limbs. Apparently no damage, all good. The rabbit has learned a valuable lesson – don’t hop out of the hedge without looking around first, next time it might be a fox, or one of those nasty terrier that actually kill their prey – and Rose got to indulge her chase instinct. It’s all worked out rather nicely. Dog, human, and nature.

We walk on and as we turn the corner towards the barley field I look back over my shoulderand see that the rabbit hasn’t moved yet. A cautious rabbit is a long living rabbit I think, this one may yet reach adulthood. But now I also see a rook, a few meters behind from the rabbit. The little black head swivels left and right as the tooth-pick legs take a few quick steps towards the rabbit and then back again, and then a few more steps forward and back again. This little dance is vaguely disquieting. 

We walk on. Through the barley, over the tracks, around the lake, and back. There are scents everywhere, apparently, but nothing more to chase. 25 minutes max we are back at the playing fields. 

There is the rabbit, where Rose left it, and there is the rook, feathers glistering black in the morning light. It’s pecking at the rabbit’s tail, dragging it backward in tiny little increments. The rabbit doesn’t flinch or make for the hedge. This does look all wrong and I tell Rosie to sit and stay, which she does, and then jog over to the rabbit and shoo away the bird, which hops to the side a few meters. 

The rabbit’s stomach is open and pink and white entrails have been pulled out onto grass, still attached by a fibre to the stomach. There is no blood. The rook pecked its way through the stomach’s skin and pulled out the intestines. It’s not clear why, or where, the bird is dragging the rabbit after having disembowelled the poor thing. 

It turns out that Rosie had left the rabbit in shock and unable to run the few meters to cover inthe hedge, and that rooks are opportunistic omnivores, and not just of the scavenging typeeither. 

I would like to say that I was appalled by the scene, full of existential guilt or confusion about my role in these events, and that I felt apart, dis-membered from my society with Rosie and from nature. This is in fact the story I told you, in the warmth of Carol’s living room. Unfiltered and rambling, this was the lie you heard. It was spontaneous and earnest, an honest lie. Sitting in front of you I did produce the feeling of conflict about by my role, about Rosie’s instincts. In front of you the sense of being denatured, even of being lost to myself,swelled up inside me.

But no, in that grassy field, looking down at the rabbit and its innards, I wasn’t reallyappalled or guilt ridden or feeling terribly apart or de-membered. Maybe disoriented by the simple and direct nature of the chain of events that produced such a violent death. The appalling blood thirst of the rook, who bore clear and immediate responsibility, was new to me, but mostly I was confused, and mostly about how I ought to react, in case someone witnessed the whole thing and ran me down with righteous indignation. That was a deeply troubling idea. I remember turning a quick left and right, but I was alone. Or alone with the other culpable parties – Rosie and the rook – who had little inclination towards, and bases for, any indignation. (You were my first witnesses, when I told the story in the living room, as we celebrated our 3rd Annual Literary Festival.)

To my credit, I glared at the rook and it took flight, I gave Rosie a deep frown and she, well, looked puzzled, and then I picked-up the rabbit, still warm and soft, and carried it over to the hedge and placed it inside as far as I could without tearing a sleeve on the brambles. I said sorry and wished it a safe journey. A better person might have taken it home and made a (very small) stew.

This is a short story so I’ll keep it short. I have told you the story twice. The first telling in person was an honest lie, this second, in print, probably a dishonest truth. I doubt you’ll want to hear it thrice, for what are the odds you will get an honest truth out of me? I on the other hand feel utterly content, having unburdened myself to you twice.