Bitter Solace

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by Kathryn Silver-Hajo

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CW: Animal Suffering

The scream cuts the late summer air like a saw blade through pine. By the time I see my dog it’s too late. Her canines are deep into soft fur, locked in the tender flesh of the rabbit’s back before I know what’s happening.

Did you know that rabbits scream? Did you know they did anything other than producing young, chomping clover, wiggling their noses like Thumper?

I grab the leash from its hook, dash back to where the dog maintains her vigil, powerful jaws holding the creature down, while caw of crow, scree of cicada, buzz of bee, laughter of children, continues—the world, it seems, unperturbed.

When you decide to offer hearth and home to a playful pup, do you consider—she is a hunting dog? Do you acknowledge—hunting dogs hunt? Do you understand—it’s in her nature?

I attach the leash to her collar gingerly, try not to cause more damage as I tug and drag her resistant body away, and into the house. I return to lie beside the injured animal—silent now, chest heaving, eyes bright.

How do you bring peace to a creature in its death throes? Hasten the end somehow?

Lacking the courage for such a thing, I whisper-soothe as if to a child, Hush little mama don’t you cry, all I can offer is this lullaby, knowing it’s more for me than for her. That it’s better than loosing my own shrill scream into the teeming, vibrant air.

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