Eyes Wide Open

You can’t open a single guidebook about New Zealand and not immediately learn it's got way more sheep than people. The wooly herbivores munch their way from North to South and East to West. They cling to hillsides and meander through open plains. They dominate most landscapes. However, there is a silent predator among them, and on Christmas Eve I set out with a few good Kiwi men to seek revenge on the worst enemy known to farming: the wascally wabbit.

Armed with two rifles, a shotgun, a cooler of Speights, and heaps of ammo, we cruised away into the setting sun of Central Otago. The boys were clad in Santa hats, a sinister accessory to our off-color Christmas excursion. After a brief target practice to make sure the guns were calibrated, we organized ourselves in the truck. A word about the preferred mode of transport for rabbit killing: a sunroof is key.

Soon enough it was my turn to feel the cool summer air against my face and the cool barrel of a gun in my hand. I had learned how to load the magazine with bullets when I was riding up front, so the 22 was ready to rumble. I positioned myself up through the sunroof and figured out that the best place to rest the gun was on a little platform made of the removable headrest from the passenger-side seat of the car. When I looked through the telescope of the gun, I had a clear view with no wobbles.

We transitioned to another paddock, this one with much deeper grass and thus a much more challenging course. I was cool and collected on the outside, but on the inside I was nervous as hell. I had to kill a rabbit. Thus far I’d proved my worth by catching and gutting a fish at Lake Wanaka, and ever since then the talk had turned to rabbits. What if I couldn’t hit one? My anxiety had nothing to do with animal rights (Not that I really had an option: all Kiwis liked to tell me if I liked my fancy merino long underwear then I should support bunny eradication). I just wanted to get a good shot in.

With the spotlight shining bright across the field, little pink eyes and cotton-tailed bums poked out through the grass. I took a deep breath and put my head down and eye to the telescope. I found a rabbit near a fence-post, lined up the cross on its sweet little face and pulled the trigger. Cheers rang out from below me in the truck as the rabbit fell flat on its side. A huge grin spread across my face. One less rabbit in the paddock, one more pair of yummy wool socks for humanity.