A friend of mine from London Town recently took a train to walk, breathe fresh air and contemplate the delights of the great outdoors. I am blessed and truly appreciate that this is something I can do every day – merely by stepping out of my front door.
I know she did this because she Tweeted it. Shortly after noon there was a less than jolly Tweet. @clairenelson had seen two dogs attacking a rabbit. As a country girl, this would hold no surprise for me: indeed I would have been thinking about the benefits of not having to feed the dog that evening.
@clairenelson is not a country girl – at least not of the let-the-dogs-have-it or knock-it-on-the-head school of my country upbringing. I read with some disbelief that she was calling an animal rescue shelter – for a wild rabbit. There were none to be had. The next I heard she and her partner were planning a walk, with bunny (in shock) tucked up cosily in a hat, 6 miles to the nearest vet.
Operation Rescue Arthur
At this point I felt compelled to Tweet her. With all the gentleness I could muster I tried to explain that a rabbit in shock would not survive and that the best thing would be to do “the decent thing”. I got no reply. My gentleness can often be misinterpreted for blunt pragmatism. I am being kind to myself here.
When I checked her Tweets later that afternoon I saw that the rabbit had indeed died. It had died warm, and held, and not alone on the forest floor or torn apart by dogs. It was laid gently under the hedge of a churchyard. And it had a name. Arthur.
Realising that my Truth is not the only Truth is a very humbling experience.
