A needless death diminishes us
Last night, I killed a raccoon. Not intentionally. But shot dead.
First, there was a mom and two babies coming around. Climbing in the plum trees to eat the fruit I leave on for the birds in winter. They come at night, but I have to consider the house dogs. Not the sheepdog in the pasture who would make short work of a raccoon. She has in the past. That is her job.
But the Holy Terrior, who would think nothing of taking them all on at once. He would not win that one.
Even though they come at night, they are not welcome. Mom came to a bad end at a neighbor’s, and I thought that was the end of it. But a few nights later, they were back — just the two wee ones. I noticed the pile of scat growing at the end of the driveway. Perhaps a raccoon signal to other bandits that there were good eats to be had here.
They had no fear. They ignored the dogs barking. Me — yelling and throwing stones. They had a good thing going. Every night, I would go out and have the talk with them. I live in the wilderness—there is no shortage of trees for them to take refuge in at night. They would leave for a few nights, then back again.
Any one of my neighbors would be happy to come down and dispatch them. But I didn’t want to go that route. They usually move on after a bit, but these two thought this was home. Maybe they were too young to be orphans and imprinted here as the last place mom brought them when life was still good.
They didn’t leave.
Then I noticed one night there were three of them, one a little older, but he obviously knew a good thing when he saw it. That was it. I had no wish to see my dogs gutted. Flashlight in one hand, pistol in the other, out I went. Being careful to aim away from where the three were bedded down in the tree, I emptied the pistol.
They scrambled.
This morning, I let the big dog out. She’s big but still a pup. Excitable. Before too long, I hear her get all squirrely, barking like crazy at the plum trees, and I get a bad feeling. I called her in, got dressed for the cold, and made my way over. A fourth raccoon. At the base of the tree. Right, where I thought I was aiming safely away from the three kids. Dead.
And I killed him.
I tried to tell myself he didn’t suffer—death is inevitable—I’m no stranger to that. I don’t know anyone who is. But the thought of having him lie there all night bleeding out was intolerable. While he slowly froze. It was a death without purpose. In due time, I would have made staying unpleasant, or the plums would have run out, and they would have gone.
Animals don’t kill without purpose. They kill for food or protection — as humans do. Some humans. But we have forgotten our purpose in this world. We are caretakers. We are here to take care of this abundant planet and all that it offers. Without causing suffering. Without pain. We can harvest, but we must put back. We can kill, but with right intention, with purpose. And hopefully with compassion.
I grabbed my coffee and the dogs and hiked up to the bench at the top of my property. I thought about the needless death of the raccoon. Needless death is everywhere these days. Gaza, Israel, Ukraine—I find it overwhelming. And sad.
So much suffering.
It becomes a slippery slope when we try to justify the killing of each other. Perhaps death is quick, and there is little time to suffer. But someone does. That person was important to someone. Perhaps too many. And they will suffer. We as a society suffer from the purposelessness of killing. No matter how we try to justify it in our minds — it is wrong.
There is too much killing in this world. With every needless death, our souls are a little more diminished.
And the raccoon? I bundled him up on the ATV and took him out to the wildlands — where he could slowly return to that which created him.
Comentários