“That was the first time I’d ever seen a dead body before- other than at a funeral, of course,” I said.
When I was a teenager I went to a youth group with my church every week on Wednesday. Sometimes we would do something spiritual- sometimes something just for fun. On that particular day, standing there next to a body that had assumed room temperature, it was “career day.” Yes, looking down at the feet sticking out of the bottom of a sheet, with a tag tied to one of the toes, was all part of the day’s agenda. The mortician told us about his day to day activities, the pros and the cons of his job, and answered the morbid questions our teenaged minds conjured up.
“We’re going out to the farm today,” my youth leader said the following week. “Gonna see some of the things at the dairy and help out with the rabbits.”
We’d been to the dairy a thousand times before, and we loved it every time. Alan, our youth leader, owned the dairy along with a couple of his brothers. On that particular day, though, we didn’t have our hands on udders- we were taking care of the fuzzy cute little rabbits. No, we weren’t picking them up just to hold them, we were learning about butchering them. How about that?
Lots of people have never eaten rabbit. I had done so lots of times. From those that have, most of those people weren’t there during the killing process. I had done that lots of times too. My father used to raise rabbits and we’d eat them. Yes, for as long as I could remember, I’d been used to the concept of naming and playing with something I’d later be digesting. That was normal life to me, I suppose, and while I imagine lots of people wouldn’t find that appealing, I still don’t have a problem with the thought.
Dad used to knock the rabbit out, then take the big butcher knife and separate the head from the body- easy as that. Out there on Alan’s farm, Alan’s brother was doing it just the same way- knocking the rabbit out quickly and painlessly with a metal bar.
“There’s an easier way to do that,” my good friend, Anthony, said. “If you do it by hand, it’s easier.”
“By hand?” Alan’s brother asked. “What do you mean?”
“Here, I’ll show ya. I’ve done it loads of times,” Anthony said.
Anthony grabbed the fuzzy little bunny by the hind legs and held it about waist high. Then, suddenly and quickly, like a karate expert splitting a board in two with his hand, he karate chopped the rabbit right behind the ear. Without so much as a jerk or a kick, the rabbit went limp instantaneously. The rabbit was placed on the chopping block, and the rest was history.
On first thought, the process seemed like the most humane way to do it, but that was before Alex saw it done.
“Oh, man. I gotta try that,” Alex said, eyes as large as cue balls.
Alex successfully picked up the rabbit without any problems, but that was about the only thing that he did successfully. WHACK…
“You did it wrong,” Anthony said. “You gotta hit it straight down, right there. You hit it wrong.”
The process was obviously easier said than done. WHACK… WHACK… WHACK WHACK WHACK! It just wasn’t happening the way it was supposed to and the rabbit was letting Alex know it. If you’ve ever held a rabbit, you know they have an amazing ability to kick and scratch the heck out of you, a much greater ability than a cat, especially when you keep punching it in the back of the head.
“Uh, I think I’d better take that,” Alan’s brother said. And with a swing of the metal rod, the rabbit finally stopped freaking out.
“Owwww,” Alex said, looking at the deep red grooves in his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me that was gonna happen.”
Anyone who thinks rabbits don’t have facial expressions have never seen a failed attempt to knock one unconscious with a good ol’ Daniel LaRusso to the back of the head. “Why? Why are you doing this to me.”
I know, I know, I know. It’s not funny to hurt small animals. That’s where people like Jeffrey Dahmer get their start. Alex had good intentions, trying to make it quick and clean to feed a hungry family, but some people’s good intentions have worse results than their bad ones.
“Okay, so two weeks ago we went to the morgue and last week we killed rabbits,” Alan said. “This week we’re just gonna have some fun. How about some dodgeball on the trampoline? And for anyone who wants to join me, we can forget about all that death stuff and come help a calf being born.”
I’m now in the same position Alan was in those years ago. I now work with the teenage boys on Wednesdays. We do spiritual things, dodgeball type activities, and career days, although my boys are yet to kill anything or look at corpses. Still, I really enjoyed that month of death when I was a teenager. And, oh yeah- of course, the calf born that day also died there with everyone watching. True story.
When I was a teenager I went to a youth group with my church every week on Wednesday. Sometimes we would do something spiritual- sometimes something just for fun. On that particular day, standing there next to a body that had assumed room temperature, it was “career day.” Yes, looking down at the feet sticking out of the bottom of a sheet, with a tag tied to one of the toes, was all part of the day’s agenda. The mortician told us about his day to day activities, the pros and the cons of his job, and answered the morbid questions our teenaged minds conjured up.
“We’re going out to the farm today,” my youth leader said the following week. “Gonna see some of the things at the dairy and help out with the rabbits.”
We’d been to the dairy a thousand times before, and we loved it every time. Alan, our youth leader, owned the dairy along with a couple of his brothers. On that particular day, though, we didn’t have our hands on udders- we were taking care of the fuzzy cute little rabbits. No, we weren’t picking them up just to hold them, we were learning about butchering them. How about that?
Lots of people have never eaten rabbit. I had done so lots of times. From those that have, most of those people weren’t there during the killing process. I had done that lots of times too. My father used to raise rabbits and we’d eat them. Yes, for as long as I could remember, I’d been used to the concept of naming and playing with something I’d later be digesting. That was normal life to me, I suppose, and while I imagine lots of people wouldn’t find that appealing, I still don’t have a problem with the thought.
Dad used to knock the rabbit out, then take the big butcher knife and separate the head from the body- easy as that. Out there on Alan’s farm, Alan’s brother was doing it just the same way- knocking the rabbit out quickly and painlessly with a metal bar.
“There’s an easier way to do that,” my good friend, Anthony, said. “If you do it by hand, it’s easier.”
“By hand?” Alan’s brother asked. “What do you mean?”
“Here, I’ll show ya. I’ve done it loads of times,” Anthony said.
Anthony grabbed the fuzzy little bunny by the hind legs and held it about waist high. Then, suddenly and quickly, like a karate expert splitting a board in two with his hand, he karate chopped the rabbit right behind the ear. Without so much as a jerk or a kick, the rabbit went limp instantaneously. The rabbit was placed on the chopping block, and the rest was history.
On first thought, the process seemed like the most humane way to do it, but that was before Alex saw it done.
“Oh, man. I gotta try that,” Alex said, eyes as large as cue balls.
Alex successfully picked up the rabbit without any problems, but that was about the only thing that he did successfully. WHACK…
“You did it wrong,” Anthony said. “You gotta hit it straight down, right there. You hit it wrong.”
The process was obviously easier said than done. WHACK… WHACK… WHACK WHACK WHACK! It just wasn’t happening the way it was supposed to and the rabbit was letting Alex know it. If you’ve ever held a rabbit, you know they have an amazing ability to kick and scratch the heck out of you, a much greater ability than a cat, especially when you keep punching it in the back of the head.
“Uh, I think I’d better take that,” Alan’s brother said. And with a swing of the metal rod, the rabbit finally stopped freaking out.
“Owwww,” Alex said, looking at the deep red grooves in his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me that was gonna happen.”
Anyone who thinks rabbits don’t have facial expressions have never seen a failed attempt to knock one unconscious with a good ol’ Daniel LaRusso to the back of the head. “Why? Why are you doing this to me.”
I know, I know, I know. It’s not funny to hurt small animals. That’s where people like Jeffrey Dahmer get their start. Alex had good intentions, trying to make it quick and clean to feed a hungry family, but some people’s good intentions have worse results than their bad ones.
“Okay, so two weeks ago we went to the morgue and last week we killed rabbits,” Alan said. “This week we’re just gonna have some fun. How about some dodgeball on the trampoline? And for anyone who wants to join me, we can forget about all that death stuff and come help a calf being born.”
I’m now in the same position Alan was in those years ago. I now work with the teenage boys on Wednesdays. We do spiritual things, dodgeball type activities, and career days, although my boys are yet to kill anything or look at corpses. Still, I really enjoyed that month of death when I was a teenager. And, oh yeah- of course, the calf born that day also died there with everyone watching. True story.
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