Rabbit's Totem

We had been four great friends- four young rabbits who’d known each other since we had first opened our eyes and grown fur.  

Now there was just us three. We foraged together, played together and talked about girl rabbits. We now wept together as well.

Sam is the biggest of us. His thick coat was a rich chocolate brown that matched his soulful eyes, his big flop ears and tail tipped in black as if dipped in an ink pot. The ladies did swoon when he looked their way. 

I am Seth, my twin’s name was Robbie. We were both caramel shaded, with white tipped ears and paws. Only our mother could

tell us apart, no one knew how she managed that feat, and our Pops simply acted as if we were just one being. 

Nugget is the smallest of us four, and black as raven’s wings. I was envious of the way his fur shone oil-slick blue in late afternoon sunlight. He’d learned to think fast while just a wee kitten, and only grew more quick-witted every day. His home life sucked. His Ma had got herself eaten by a cougar shortly after his birth. His Pa was always angry and so darn mean! If Nugs wasn’t black, he’d have been black and blue! His jerk of a father had named the poor kid Nugget, as if being the runt of the litter wasn’t humiliation enough. We admired Nugs not only for being smart, but also for being as strong as Sam, just in a different way. If any of us needed any sort of advice- about anything, no matter how trivial or no matter how profound- it was our small black friend we turned to.

It was my brother Robbie the three of us friends had just buried. We stood in a clearing around two graves- the small one being my brother’s, and the other a much larger one of a being we had never actually met. This clearing is deep in our woods, the farthest north we’d ever explored. Today it smelled pleasantly of fresh loamy earth, grass, lilac, and dogwood flowers. The clearing was a perfect circle, surrounded on all sides by lush evergreens punctuated by the skeletal white of birches. Except for the fresh graves, the ground was swept clean of cones and leaves. At the northern edge of the clearing was a totem pole. It was carved of red cedar and featured a black bear, a wolf, a badger, and a bald eagle at the top with wings spread wide. It must have been here eons, the paint so faded that it was nearly all shades of earth, with just a hint of white on the eagle’s head, a shadow of red in the wolf’s mouth, and faint green patches aside the badger’s ears. We lowered our heads and shamelessly wept. The horned owl, perched in the dogwood tree, gave us a few silent minutes to grieve, each in our own way.

Earlier that day, at the crack of dawn, Robbie and I had been eating breakfast. It was Sunday so our parents slept in late, my bro and I had tiptoed around the kitchen and spoken in hushed voices. We’ put the last of the blueberries on our cinnamon toasted oats. Because blueberries were Rob’s favorite, he got the biggest one and I supposed he would save it for last.

I’d finished up first and said to Rob, “I’ll go next door, see if Sam is up yet. I’ll bring him some cereal and berries. I hope his foot hasn’t swelled up any worse since yesterday, jeez, it looked awful!” I grabbed another bowl from the shelf and filled it with breakfast for Sam.

“Tell Sam ‘hey’ for me wouldja?” Rob said with oats falling from his mouth.

“Will do lil bro.”

I’d figured Rob would be done eating by the time I got back with Nugget, then we could hit the deer paths. Today we were going

to explore all the way to the river in the sprucey west woods. When I came to the jingle bell line, I’d ducked to pass under it.  Because I

was carrying a bowl of cereal, my ears caught for a second on the line. My dad had put the line around our place last fall when we’d had many of our rabbit clan eaten by wolves. It’s a line of fishing string, nearly invisible to the eye, with tiny brass bells along its length to warn of unwanted visiters. The bells tinkled crisply in the dewy spring air. “Crap.” I remember thinking, “Hope that didn’t wake Mom n Pops.”

I had let myself in to Sam’s place, since he had a hard time even getting up off the couch, and found him reading a tattered copy

of a “Boy’s Life” with a sullen look on his face. 

“Here’s some breakfast dude.” I gave him the bowl and fetched him a spoon from the kitchen.

“Thanks.” Was all he’d said as he took the bowl.

“Hurts, huh?”

“It’s pretty bad, yeah…you guys going to the river today?” He had asked. 

I knew he’d wanted me to say, no, but I never lied to my friends, even if it hurt their feelings. I said, “Yeah. Rob’s been looking

forward to it all week. When you get better, we’ll go explore to the foothills. Promise.”

If it cheered him up at all, it was hard to tell. There was only silence, made awkward by the fact that there was rarely silence at all amongst my pals and I. 

“O  Kaaay...”  As I’d headed out the door, “I’ll come by later, bring you some comics or something.”

Sam then snapped out of his slump and perked up a bit. “Hey man, that would be super, thanks. And thanks again for breakfast. I

really do appreciate it. And I’m sorry to be such a poopy lump.”

I said I totally understood and left.

Fetching Nugget was next. I had wanted to get to his place before his rotten dad woke up. His dad slept late every morning, but I

took no chances. Whenever he arose, his eyes would be bloodshot, the acidic stink of ferment wafting from his pores. And

yowza, his godawful breath! 

When I’d rounded the bend, Nugs was already outside and waiting for me. He said to me in his soft-spoken voice, “He was pretty beat up last night. I guess Natty showed up to the bar.” Nat was a badger, notorious for brawling, and meaner than a bobcat with its tail on fire!

“I don’t want to be here when he gets up. Can I spend the night at your place? He won’t care.” Nugs gestured slightly at the dumpy burrow behind us. Because Nugget was all black, one did not at first notice the patch over his left eye. Or, more correctly, over the empty socket where his eye had been this same time just the day before. Instead of being kind and caring, his pops had gone off the deep end again when Nugget had come home sporting an eyepatch. It had gone something like this:

“Stupid rotten kid! I toldja din I?! Shot it out with that slin-shooter thinga yours! Right?! Am I right?! Rotten useless little

turd…” And on and on. After the wind left his sails, he’d stormed out. An excuse in his addled mind no doubt. 

The eye thing had happened so fast, none of us even saw the pebble that did the damage. Bullet fast, it must have been! The four

of us had been having a good time, hiking along, picking up small rocks for Nugget. He was getting darn good with his slingshot. 

Being the gentle sweet soul that he was, he never shot at birds, nor any other living thing for that matter. He’d been walking a little

distance behind us because he’d stop every twenty feet or so, take aim, and fire at whatever challenging target caught his eye. No

pinecone or acorn was safe! Robbie, Sam and I, had been talking about if worms were okay to eat, or maybe about girls…

Nugget had started screaming! 

We turned around and saw him on the ground, curled up all fetal-like, clutching his face. There was blood between his paws! A

LOT of blood. Sam had picked up Nugs and carried him baby-style. By the time we got to my house his tears had dried and he had accepted the loss of his eye. Nugget even cleaned the socket himself.  I fashioned an eyepatch from an old black tee-shirt, and admired the little guy even more that day. I’m sure I would never have been so cool. He even laughed with us and came up with a pirate joke of his own.

So, when he’d asked if he could spend the night, he already knew that he’d never need to ask.

“Sure Nugs, any time man. C’mon, let’s grab Rob and head out!” I had said.

We passed Sam’s place, I ducked under the hedges around my yard. That time I was extra careful not to sound the bells. Nugs

was so small, he didn’t have to duck.

I’d come through the back door and at first was irritated that Rob had not washed the dishes yet, it’d been his turn. Then I saw the  

milk and congealing pools of mushy oats glued to the table, an overturned bowl on the floor. My back hair had stood straight up like thistles, my ears flattened against my neck, and icy sweat had oozed down my arms. Rob’s slipper was upside down under the table like a fuzzy blue beached fish. As I came around the messy table, I saw Rob. He was face down flat on the floor with his soft white paws tucked under him. Nugget had come up behind me. He made a wet exclamation of horror in his throat but was as speechless as I was. 

I didn’t believe it could be happening. “No no no no no no…” repeated in my head, on and on.

I then had grabbed my brother’s lifeless body and turned him over to face me. His eyes were awful. Wide and glazed and

sticky- looking. One paw had fallen away from his open mouth as I took him in my arms.

“Aaaaaaaaaagh!” I had shrieked. And I recall that I’d never been so frustrated and furious in my short life. I lifted my twin’s

lifeless body and the whole world tilted like a torpedoed sub, I lost my balance and went down with the ship. I shook the rag doll in

my arms, the one I’d loved most of all, and screeched no words, just sound. My tears fell into Robbie’s cooling fur. A big dark blob had

fallen out of him. Blop, on the floor. I had blinked for a few seconds, my eyelids like windshield wipers, and it had been then I’d seen

the fat blueberry under the table.

         Three days before this terrible Sunday we had been on a hike after school in the north woods. Nugget’s aim was true as usual, we heard the whiz of his pebbles over our heads, off to the left or right of us, then the sharp crack of the hit. That day I think we had been talking about the geometery test coming up on Monday…or it could have been girls. We were in an area of the forest vibrant with new spring blooms. Azaleas, crocuses, trilliums and robin’s egg blue forget-me-knots. I stopped to pick some wonderfully fragrant lily of the valley for my Mom. Sam was picking a colorful selection for Ester, the pretty new bunny in our class. Robbie was filling his sack with the wild blueberries he adored so much. I had followed a trail of the delicate white bells growing under a huckleberry bush and as I was reaching for the next stem, my paw had brushed against something bristley-furry. That something had felt so out of place amongst the lilies, so alien in that happy spring afternoon. Aghast, I’d staggered back from the bush, flailing my arms for balance.

Robbie had asked, “Seth? What’s wrong?”

    I’d shivered and said, “Th-there’s something under that bush! It was cold. Hard but furry…”

My friends and brother had run over. As one, we’d cautiously searched the shadows as I pushed some leaves out of the way. There was a huge hairy paw buried in the damp pine needles, only the toes visible, each ending with a long black claw. As

one, we had jumped back at least three feet! 

      Then Nugget had said logically, “You said it was cold. And it’s not moving. Whatever it is, it’s no threat to us, it’s dead.”

     Sam had felt foolish for being a scaredy-butt. To make up for it, he had then stepped forward, and, with daring bravado, pulled the rest of the bushes aside. He’d then bent forward and brushed away the shluff obscuring the unfortunate creature’s face. It was truly the scariest face I’d ever seen! (Way worse than Nugget’s dad at 2am!) It was the face of a great charcoal grey wolf! The once, brilliant-yellow eyes, now clotted and gummy. The thick dark fur was matted and scraggly, the snarl of the mouth showed pointed teeth as long as my ears! It was not the first dead body we had ever seen, but it was definitely the biggest. None of us had ever been this close to a wolf before. If we had, we would not have been there then, looking down on it with relief…and pity.

           An owl had hooted softly over our heads and we realized it had grown nearly dark. “We’d better be going back.” Nugget had said.

         “Should we bury him?” asked Robbie.

          “It’s just a wolf, Goofus. Of course not.” Chided Sam.

           We had all agreed that there was no need to bury the body of what had once been our enemy.

            The owl had who-whoed a second time, closer. It was hunting time for owls and the rabbits were shocked to find this one perched in the pine tree over the wolf. “I’m not here to eat you. But I do have to palaver with you for just a short while.”

             We were rapt with curiosity as the wise old owl had said, “These northern woods are sacred ground for the humans called Inuit. They Carve the totems that watch over every living creature here. You should honor their ways and bury the

wolf.”

            “Awww, what do we care about human ways and dead wolves?” Sam had said.

              Nugget, not wanting to insult the great horned owl, had said, “We have to get home Mr. Owl. My dad will be furious if I don’t

make him his supper. Perhaps we can come back tomorrow, and you can show us where we should bury the wolf.”

               The owl had wasted no more breath on us and flew off, shaking his head sadly as he went, Fwap fwap, his wings had sounded like.

                As we hiked quickly to the meadow where our burrows were, we said little. I imagine we had all been thinking about the wolf and the owl, maybe even the humans called Inuit.

                The next day was Friday, none of us talked about the wolf. It seemed we all had better things to do than go dig up a large grave and drag a very heavy body to it. It would have taken all day. 

                 That night, Sam got all gussied up for a date with Ester, whom he’d started referring to as his ‘Ester Bunny’. (You just couldn’t not roll your eyes.) He had whistled as he walked over to the small creek by her burrow. He had hopped upon the log that spanned the small trickling brook and was halfway across when a great whoosh blew over his ears. Owl!  Sam had leapt forward while instinctively ducking. He then caught his foot in a knot in the log. His body went over the log, with his foot still stuck in the knot. Snap! His breaking foot a dry twig. He had stifled his howl just barely, and managed to crawl, hidden in the weeds, to Ester’s home.

               On Saturday, Nugget had lost his eye.

               This morning I lost my brother. At about 3 o’clock this afternoon, Nugget and I had gone over to Sam’s and us three had a serious talk. One accident could be just that. But three tragedies within three days was just too much to be coincidence. 

We went to where the wolf was laying and found the wise old owl waiting. We were shamed and humbled and bereft with grief. We did everything that the owl advised. 

                And now here we stand, saying our goodbyes to both our brother rabbit and to the wolf we’d not known alive, but had come to respect regardless. We had made a sling for Sam, his dad carried him on his back to the circle where the totem was. Our parents were there with us, adding their voices to our smaller ones. The only one not present was Nugget’s pop. After our spoken words and silent moments, the owl recited a beautiful, lilting hymn he’d heard the Native Canadians voice many times. For the first time in three days, we all felt at peace.

              I’d thought that was the entire tale. But I just have to speak of events that occurred within the next two months after the funeral:

              My parents and I brought fresh flowers weekly to put on Robbie’s grave. We couldn’t leave the circle without putting them on the grave of the wolf as well.

               This morning, Nugget and I made the journey just us two. We put our flowers on the mounds that were slowly but surely settling back into the earth. As I wiped wetness from my cheek, I heard Nugget gasp. When I looked up, he was pointing at the totem pole. At the top was now a rabbit with fresh new paint.