The Narrow Escape

Sparkling in the afternoon light, the brittle snow crackled and snapped as I walked through the little wood behind the hunting cabin. Crouching when I reached the edge of a white covered field, I scanned its dimpled surface in hopes that the trail I followed would lead to an opportunity to try out my new rifle.

When I noticed a promising outline near the field’s edge, I lifted my weapon. Through the scope, I could see a snowshoe hare camouflaged by a narrow depression, sitting as still as the grave.

I whispered “Gotcha,” as I braced my rifle and lined him up in my sights.

Breathing in, I paused for a couple seconds and carefully exhaled, steadying my rifle and beginning to slowly squeeze the trigger.

As the hare’s eye suddenly widened in terror, I loosened the trigger pressure before he erupted from the depression, a pouncing lynx suddenly appearing in my sights.

Jerking with surprise, I jammed the scope into my eye before lowering the rifle with a curse and gaping as the lynx raced after its prey, the hare's enormous back paws scattering bits of snow as it zigged and zagged to elude its fleet-footed foe.

But as quickly as it began, the hare disappeared beneath some brush, the lynx snarling in frustration before shaking the snow out of its paws and trotting swiftly away.

My hands trembling and heart pounding, I shakily ejected the bullet from the chamber. I, rather than the hare, experienced the narrow escape.