Recalling Rabits

The following post is written by Dan Hetrick. While I may not agree with all parts of his analogy, I trust that it will invoke humble, respectful and open conversation.

When I was a child, my family lived on a partially wooded property. Every evening at dusk, rabbits would come out of the woods and nibble on the clover growing in the backyard. Now, I always wanted to get close to these cute, cuddly little bunnies. But whenever I would appear in the backyard, the rabbits all responded the same way: they’d freeze, observe me with intense suspicion and, the moment I approached, they’d bolt for the woods. No matter how softly moved, no matter how deliberate my motions, I could never get closer than twenty yards before off they’d go. It was frustrating. I did not intend to hurt them. But, of course, they did not know that. They saw me as a threat. Therefore, they fled. Judging by their numbers, their instinct allowed most to live long lives. On the other hand, they never experienced the pleasure of having their ears scratched.