And I Like to Think I'm an Animal Lover....

Wolfie got a rabbit today.

I don’t hold rabbits in any particular ill will, but there’s not a whole lot of love lost between us, either. They’re stupid. They keep coming into a yard that is absolutely resplendent with the scent of predators, building nests and trying to hide their young here, which is essentially an open invitation for carnage. And I hate it. At the same time, I hate to see an animal suffer, so when Wolfie chased after that stupid animal this morning, I prayed that it would escape and thwart my dog.

No such luck. It ran into a corner of the yard where there are no low places under the fence, which should tell you right there how stupid it was, and Wolfie was on it. As he shook it and it squeaked, I ran back into the house and into my closet, crouched down, plugged my ears and said something along the lines of Jenny’s Prayer: “Dear God, please make it a bird, so it can fly far, far away.”

After a few minutes, I grabbed my keys and decided it was time to do about an hour’s worth of errands while Wolfie and Nole sorted it out in the backyard.

I’m an animal lover. Together with some wonderful friends, I run a dog rescue for Westies, and I cannot stand to see an animal in pain. I once came across an Instagram reel that, despite the algorithm having absolutely no earthly reason to think I wanted to see anything like this, showed a deer in the grasp of a jungle python before it was rescued. I still think about it. I loathe the thought of live mice being fed to pet snakes. I cry at videos that show scared, emaciated stray dogs before they are rescued.

I grew up on a farm, and you’d think that would have inured me to the circle of life. No such thing. Every year, my dad would select a goat from the herd for the sausage grinder. At the time that I knew it was going to happen, I would run to my closet, put my pillow over my head and cry until it was over.

Yet, I ate the sausage.

I’m not a vegetarian, but I dearly wish I could be. The best I can do is to be a wannabe pescatarian.

I don’t believe in killing anything outside that is simply doing its job. Ants, roaches and other sundry bugs are welcome to exist in their natural habitat with my good will. However, the second I see one of them in MY habitat, it’s a dead bug. I am apparently willing to extend considerable grace to God’s creatures right up until they cross my property line.

So you can see that I am the chief of hypocrites.

But underneath all of that ridiculousness, I really do believe that God knows when every living creature on earth dies, human or animal. I don’t believe the prey-and-predator dynamic was what He intended for creation. I believe that when sin entered the world, everything got screwed up. Humans prey on humans and animals, and animals prey on humans and other animals. It’s a sick, broken ecosystem, and I believe there will come a day when Jesus returns and creation itself is healed.

I find that comforting. Because as much as I love animals, I’m painfully aware that I live in a world where sometimes loving a creature means watching it suffer, sometimes means accepting that death is part of this broken creation, and sometimes means hiding in your closet while your dog conducts an unsanctioned wildlife intervention.

Which brings me to the other day.

I was driving along when a mouse crawled up from under the hood and huddled there, clinging to the windshield wiper in terror. I shrieked, jerked the wheel, turned on the wipers and flung that little guy into oncoming traffic.

And that, I suppose, is where my deeply held beliefs about the sanctity of every living creature meet the practical realities of being me.

I would like to think that God looks down on me and understands the contradiction. I love His creatures. I want them safe. I want them rescued. I want them to live long, happy lives.

Unless they are a rabbit in my backyard, a mouse on my windshield, or an ant in my kitchen. Then, apparently, I become less of a steward of creation and more of an Old Testament plague.

So yes, I believe the world is broken and that one day God will make it right. I just hope that when He does, He gives me a little time to work through my complicated feelings about rodents.

In the meantime, I remain an animal lover, a rescue volunteer, a reluctant carnivore, a closet-hiding coward and, apparently, a hypocrite of considerable theological conviction.