Rabbit, Run

A few winters ago, I went rabbit hunting in Westerlo, NY, with my friend Paul, who I’ve known since seventh grade. It’s not like deer hunting, where, as I understand it, you sit still and wait. To hunt rabbits, you pace through bramble and open woods with your rifle in shooting position until you spot one. We spent hours doing this over frost and ice. It was tedious. Eventually, Paul, a lifelong hunter (and, as I learned that day, prolific gun collector), shot three. I, carrying the rifle Paul got for his twelfth birthday, fired a few shots but didn’t hit any rabbits. Sensing my frustration after another wasted shot, Paul suggested we take a break in a stretch of full sun. We kneeled in the wet leaves beside a briar patch, the smell of burnt gunpowder hanging in the air, and he explained that rabbits aren’t hard to shoot and that I just suck at it. “They’re a freeze animal,” he said. “They’re fast, but they don’t dodge. They stand still and tremble as soon as they hear the gunfire.” 

I’ve always considered that human stress responses—whether you usually flee, fight, or freeze—have to do with who you are, not what you are.