Live and think differently and the world will be different

The Hare In My Head

No, I can’t do it. No, I can’t shake it. No, I can’t get rid of it. Can’t do nothing with it. Don’t matter what I do, can’t do nothing with it. I got it. It got me. There, in my head. The hare in my head. He’s there, the hare in my head. Now he’s there he’s always gonna be there. I got the hare. He’s there, that hare, he’s there in my head. Never gonna go, never gonna fade, never gonna wave goodbye, gonna be there ’till the day I die. I close my eyes, it don’t matter, open them up and look at other stuff and that don’t matter either. Every way he’s gonna stay, the hare in my head. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Except I wish he was still alive today.

Yesterday, on my out, driving in my car, turning into a small country lane, Corrstown Road (you can look it up on a map to see where it’s at) with Debbie in the passenger seat, on our way out for the evening, taking some photographs at an event a few miles further out into the country. There we were, on our way out, turning into that lane, which isn’t wide enough for two cars to pass side-by-side, but it’s a very quiet lane, so typically, naturally, everyone just drives down the middle of the lane, it’s the obvious thing to do.

There we were, about to turn into Corrstown Road, maybe seventy yards away, and up ahead a van turns into that lane too, going the same way as us too. Think nothing of it, so what. We turn, I carry on driving. The van’s carried on up his way, and then Debbie says, “What’s that?”, there’s something up ahead we see, flapping about, thrashing even. And then it stops. We drive closer and then we see that it’s a hare. A hare that has just been run over. “It”, the “something” is, we know now, a someone, a he, a hare who has just been run over. He’s just been run over by the van that was just ahead of us.

It isn’t good. There’s a lot of blood. It’s a narrow lane as I say, so I drive a bit further up and then we turn the car around to head back to see if there’s anything we can do, and even if there’s nothing we can do we want to move him from where he is, we don’t want him to get run over again and again.

I turn the car around and head back, and pull into the entrance to a driveway and stop. We walk up the hare. The hare is dead. His back end has been destroyed and his insides are hanging out. We know then that when we looked and wondered, “What is that?” what we saw were the final seconds of his life, his agonised thrashing as his body screamed. We saw his final, shocked horror of his body being blasted by the brutal crush of the van’s wheel. When I first saw I didn’t know but then I knew and now I know still and will always know.

And then I looked down at him, and I saw the cold glass of his eye which now had no life and I was so sorry for what had happened to him as he’d just been wandering around, doing his thing, causing no harm to no-one and meaning no harm to no-one, and then he was smashed with such a force as to utterly destroy him and take the light of life from his eye that I now saw but which now could no longer look back at me.

And then I looked at where he was, and he was so close to the side of the road, so very close to the verge. And I’ve been down this country lane so many times, and seen so many others come down this lane so many times, and I know how I drive down this lane and I know how everybody else drives down this lane, and I know that everyone drives straight down the middle, it’s natural, it’s instinctive, it’s the obvious and sensible thing to do.

And the hare was nowhere near where a vehicle would be, even a van, if the vehicle, even a van, was driving right down the middle. Then we know. The van that was up-ahead, the driver driving that van up ahead of us, who turned first into that lane, that guy chose to run over the hare. He took aim and took his van over to the left and he deliberatey ran his wheels over the tiny, fragile body of the little hare and obliterated the life from him. There’s no dobut that that is what happened, the hare would’ve been out of the way of the wheels if the van had done what every vehicle does and driven down the middle, had stayed down the middle. The hare didn’t die in the middle of the road. He died on the far left, on the side of the road. But the hare didn’t just die anyway. The hare was murdered.

What I saw were the final moments of a life that was deliberately destroyed by a guy in a van who, I’ll bet, didn’t think of much of what he did – and he chose to do what he did – and just carried on in his van and turned the corner at the end of the lane and carried on his way with his life, after wiping out a life, a small, defenceless, innocent life.

And now we stood and looked down upon the poor hare, dead at our feet, and we didn’t want to leave him there. I walked away and found some cloth in the back of my car and came back to the hare and bent down and carefully wrapped him in it, and picked him up, taking care not to let any more of his organs fall out, and carried him a little way and placed him behind a tree and made sure that the cloth covered him and covered his eyes, to give his mortal remains some dignity. I put him there and said sorry in my mind and walked away, and nothing else to do but carry on with my day and get in my car and drive away.

But he’s there, the poor hare, he’s there in my mind and I see his final pain, and I see his small body and his cold eye but I am glad that he is there in my mind because I have to know what I’m up against so that I know that I will fight for him and every other life on Earth with every moment of my life. I will fight for every life to be defended against the casual violence and cruelty and barbarity of humanity. I wish that little hare was still alive there, that that hadn’t happened to him, and I’m so very sorry for him that he came across the guy in the van who, with such stunning wickedness, chose to destroy that little guy. He’s dead and the memory is in my head, his final, appalling seconds are right there in my mind and that’s where they’re going to stay. I owe him the memory of his murder.

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