Moomy

‘Clang!

The cage vibrated as the metal grid snapped down to block Moomy’s escape. He panicked, searching frantically for an exit, biting at the mesh that enclosed him. Dad rabbit had warned him, if you’re hungry, don’t go for anything that’s not growing in the ground. Those two-legged creatures leave chunks of stuff lying around in all kinds of strange places. They’ll try and trap you, he’d said. Be very careful. A selfish lot, they don’t want to share the plants they grow.

           Moomy knew the garden and its vegetable plot quite well. Only a couple of fields from his burrow, he’d found the lettuces excellent. He’d seen the tall two-leggie as it came out of its burrow one morning. It had seen him at the vegetable plot and screamed quite loudly. Its mate had appeared, and Moomy judged it high time to leave. Their excited chatter had followed him half-way across the field. They didn’t even try to chase him. He didn’t know if they could run.

Returning a few days later, he’d come across an interesting and promising sight. On top of an assortment of substances that looked revolting, including that yellowish stuff that the mice were so fond of, Moomy had spotted a large carrot. Joy! He’d picked his way delicately over the entrance to the structure that housed it and sniffed cautiously at this unexpected treat.

           The carrot was indeed a fine one, he’d nibbled at it assiduously, contemplating his good fortune, then paused, taken a deep breath and shifted his position. That was when it happened.

 He’d been scared before, knew who his enemies were. Heard the rumble of an approaching tractor, seen an occasional walker with their predatory dog, who’d set off in pursuit. He knew his way about, could pop down a handy rabbit hole, badger sett, drainpipe, whatever. Escape was what life was all about, and he’d had plenty of practice.

Now, here he was with the scattered heap of offerings, shut inside a prison. There was nothing he could do, a prisoner of his own curiosity and naivety.

The sun sank lower in the sky, dropping behind the hills, leaving him in growing darkness. He listened to all the sounds that were part of his world, the singing of spider webs, the swish of moth wings blowing away fluffy dandelion heads, and in the distance, the voices of his family calling him.

‘Moomy, where are you? ‘Come home, Moomy!’

He thought of home, his burrow where his Mum and Dad lived with his brothers and sisters, the young members of this year’s family, all allowed out alone now. All of them learning to find their own food, live safely in the few acres of land that formed their home area. All well - up till now. He wept bitter rabbit tears, as he dozed away the short summer night.

He woke up with a start, forgetting where he was, hurting himself with a violent collision with the cage mesh walls. The dawn chorus was getting under way, volume swelling as it was joined bird by bird. Blackbird, robin, chaffinch, thrush – Moomy knew them all. One or two shared his passion for peas. Insects stirred, buzzing with frustration at each yet unopened flower, moving impetuously from cow parsley to vetch to wild poppy.

He listened to the rasp of snails returning from their nocturnal forage, heard the chomping of caterpillar teeth, the delicate footsteps of a fox. He felt the vibration of the ground as the worms moved through its soil, heard the muttering of bats navigating the outbuildings around the garden where he was now trapped.

An hour passed. His limbs felt stiff, unused, useless. His mind, usually focussed on the job in hand, was now overwhelmed by thoughts, sensations, questions, and answers that were no help to him at all.

But wait, he was sensing a change. A strange new feeling. He felt a tremor in the life of his world – a tremor in the fabric of his own being. The dawn chorus was quietening, his beating heart gentled, he was filled with an unprompted peace. Could that be music he was hearing from the far distance? An unfamiliar sound, a sweet penetrating solo from a sculpted reed, a pipe, perhaps? Who could make such a sound?

Only one being. He knew this from the stories he’d heard from his mother and father, from other animals who said they’d heard the music, but forgotten where. The music grew louder, He was coming close. The music stopped. Moomy felt eyes upon him, knew he’d been seen.

A dark shadow fell across his prison cage.  He was afraid to look up. He saw only feet, shaggy grey hair covering the gleam of hooves.  Raising his eyes as high as he dared, he recognised the feet and haunches of – a goat?

The god bent down, horns momentarily visible. Moomy heard the grating of metal as the cage door was raised. He moved towards the open space. Now he could see, unbarred, the mown grass slope that ran down to the hedge, to the gap he’d always used to hop from field to garden. The music was taken up again, now a merry dance that spoke to his feet, stiff from cramp.

He was away in a heartbeat, making straight for his home burrow.

‘Where you been all night Moomy?’ his father asked. Your Mum and me were worried.’

‘I saw Him! I saw Him!’ was all the little rabbit could say, breathless.

‘Saw who?’

But the memory was fading, as it must. For every rabbit had been taught about the kindness and mercy of Pan, who knew that should an animal ever see him, their god, the sight would be so overwhelming, that the memory would affect and distort the rest of its life. The good god Pan had therefore granted animals the gift of forgetting, so that any sight of him would gradually fade from their memories, their lifetimes undisturbed.  

‘Saw who?’ Moomy’s father asked once more.

The little rabbit rubbed his eyes. ‘I’ve forgotten,’ he said.