In the Marsh or in the Swamp...Just not in the Graveyard!

  If you ever listen to the "old-timers" down here...ok, so that includes me...but if you ever listen to the tales that are told while sitting at dusk on some porch, you are bound to hear a few epic stories about rabbits. Tales of exploits long ago "when I was a youngster" abound and grow with each telling.  Some are pure fiction while others, at some point, may have had a shred of truth.  Back in the day (the usual method of starting one of these wild stories), I used to hunt rabbits with my brother.  (Yep, I am an old-timer telling this fib....err...story)   It was not against the law, so many years ago, to hunt rabbits at night with a spotlight.  We had two old carbide lights left from Grandpa's coal-mining days that put out just about enough light to see your hand in front of your face but those lights sure would make a rabbit's eye glow.  Brother and I would usually head down the old south field and wind up near a small graveyard. This graveyard had no concrete or marble headstones only large seashells marked the graves.  It seemed that both marsh rabbits and swamp rabbits loved that graveyard.  Since Brother was the elder, he always toted the old single-shot rifle and while I toted the rabbits.  It was my job to crawl under the brambles to retrieve the rabbit once he shot it.  The logic behind that was that I was smaller and, well, he had the gun and could not crawl.  The system worked well for two youngsters not yet reaching their teen years.  Pop would give us three bullets and we had better bring back three rabbits.

Pretty little Marsh Rabbit near the pier.

  One particularly dark night (moonless nights were the best for hunting), the light picked up the telltale red eye of a rabbit.  Brother raised the gun and shot.  The rabbit keeled over without a kick. I looked at Brother and got the motion to climb through the small wire fence and through the overgrown graveyard to where the rabbit had fallen.  When I reached out for the critter, it jumped up and glared at me.  Those red eyes were still glowing in the beam of the old carbide light and made the rabbit look almost evil.  Ummmm!  Gulp!  "He is not dead!" I called to Brother.  "Sit still.  Don't move an inch." was the answer I got before POW!  A shot rang out just inches from my head.  The rabbit fell over again.  "WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!"  I yelled almost falling on top of the rabbit! It is a good thing that I trusted Brother!  Reaching out for the rabbit, I was met with those red, glowing eyes once again.  "HE AIN'T DEAD!!!"  POW!  Another shot rang out before I could even finish the sentence.  Now that I was shaking from head to toe, not only from rifle shots whizzing just inches from my skull, but from a non-dying rabbit, I was thinking that it was best for me to hightail it back to the old farmhouse.

  Ok, surely that rabbit had met its demise.  That was three shots that made contact with the rabbit's head. Here I am in the middle of the night, in a graveyard with an un-dead critter.  I could smell the rabbit's blood.  I could see it oozing from the wounds. I was close enough to see three distinct wounds yet that critter jumped up to glare at me once again. That was the last bullet.  There were no more and this critter looked like he was about to eat me for supper.  "UMMM....DO SOMETHING! NOW!!"  Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I almost freaked out because I could still see Brother's carbide light flickering on the outside of the graveyard fence.  Just as I looked up, a club came crashing down....on the rabbit.  Pop had heard our three shots and came to investigate.  He stooped to pick up the rabbit in one hand and a shaking daughter in the other.  "Best be getting home." he said.  "You don't look so good."

  When we got home, Pop showed us the three bullet holes in the rabbit but offered no explanation why the critter would not die.  The next day, Mom made a skimpy pot of rabbit stew to feed the family.  She always could make do by adding a few more potatoes, another handful of carrots and a couple of more onions.   As for Brother and me?  You can bet your life that we never went hunting in the graveyard again!  We made sure to steer clear of that place!

  To this day, I have no sound explanation as to the incident.  Brother was (and still is) a crack shot who could knock the center out of a quarter with that rifle but could not kill that rabbit. We caught enough ribbing from the old folks about our inept attempt at rabbit hunting.

A handsome Swamp Rabbit near the peach orchard.

  There was a fine rabbit back behind the peach orchard yesterday that made me think of the above tale.  That rabbit also got me thinking about Marsh Rabbits and Swamp Rabbits.  Back in the day, a lot of folks used to think that the Marsh Rabbits were special.  Tales used to tell of how they would outwit alligators and fox.  These rabbits would lead dogs on a wild chase through the marsh until the dogs were mired.  The rabbit would then swim to safety.

 Marsh Rabbits are smaller than Swamp Rabbits and always live near a body of water.  Their main escape is by swimming.  Swamp Rabbits can be found just about anywhere there is underbrush and a bit of water. They can be found in swamps and creek bottoms. They use their speed to escape predators.  The two are sometimes lumped together as one and the same but there are differences.  Besides being smaller in general, the Marsh Rabbit has smaller ears and swims much better.  I am glad we have both types bounding about the place.  I just really do not want any more un-dead rabbits here!