by Matthew Fouts

Created on: December 02, 2008

The Ruined Rabbit: a personal reflection on the NIU shootings.

My first indication that something bad was going to happen occured at 5:30 am on Monday morning, three days before the shooting. I was a T.A. in the English department and I had to teach an eight am class, so I was up early. My two dogs, Sky and Whisky, failed to reappear at the sliding glass door to the backyard, after I had let them out. Usually, by the time I pour the coffee, they are standing at the back door, barking at me to let them inside. Instead, I could see them, like two shadows at the back of the yard. They wouldn't come in when I called them and they were clearly agitated about something. Whisky was pacing furiously back and forth with her tail in the air, a sure sign that something was up. I slipped on my shoes and went out to see what they were so excited about. That's when I saw the body of a dead rabbit stuck in one of the diamond shaped holes of the chain linked fence.

It had snowed several inches that weekend. The rabbit, who must have been used to darting underneath the fence whenever he wanted to get out of the yard, had evidently misjudged the height and wedged himself halfway through one of the lower links of the fence. This must have happened early the night before because his dead body was frozen solid. I couldn't pull him out. His powerful muscles, had propelled him over halfway through the fence before his lower half had become stuck. This must have been the most surprising and painful experience of his short life. If I grew vegetables, I would probably have felt that the little fiend got what he deserved. But I do not grow vegetables.

There was only one thing I could do without ruining the fence. I shuffled through the snow until I found the large shovel I use to pick up dog crap. It was very cold outside. I had put my shoes on without any socks and now my bare ankles were covered with snow. I thought about going inside and getting properly dressed, but I just wanted to get it over with and get back to my cup of coffee. The dead rabbit was hard against a bush on the inside of the fence, so I jumped over with my shovel and squared off against his front half. His dead eyes seemed to look in the distance. I could almost hear him saying "Its right there, George. I can see it." I took the handle of the shovel in both hands, raised it, and brought the sharp end down on the rabbit's body, as close to the fence as I could. As I slowly chopped the rabbit in half, I thought about

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