THE STORY OF THE LAST RABBIT

I watched the rabbit climbing over the next hill with my gun on my shoulder. The black fur on his back made him seem more beautiful to me—it meant he was an old boy. The rabbit was far away when he jumped up. If I shot, I might be able to kill it, if I was a little lucky. But, more likely, I would cripple the animal, producing nothing except pain for the poor rabbit. I lowered my gun.

Looking around me, I saw pine trees on the hills left with only their largest branches, their needles consumed by herds of sheep and goat. Overgrazing by livestock had left no grass on the ground. Small, muddy paths running up and down the hills were full of tracks, but none of the tracks belonged to wildlife. There were no trees or bush left in the areas close to the villages. We wondered what the last rabbit ate. We walked over the hill and turned back, but saw nothing but muddy cow paths. When we came back to original spot, the rabbit jumped up again. Again, the smart animal was far away, at the edge of my shotgun’s range. I shouldered the gun half-heartedly, but then lowered it. I did not want to kill that survivor rabbit.

My heart pounded as my gaze fell on distant bushes and grassy slopes. There, we thought, we would find more rabbits, and also chukars. In their winter color, the bushes looked like brass trees. But when we reached them, we realized our hopes for rabbits and chukars were only an illusion. Farmers had cut the trees, to get more acres to farm. Every year, more trees and more land were being transformed from wild areas, where wildlife could live, to eroding farm land. The trees we saw from a distance were the last survivors, and they were awaiting their fate.

Anatolian farmers cut all the trees surrounding their villages first. They transformed the prairie and woods into farmland. Now, with the help of the latest technology, such as big tractors, they are trying to destroy the natural habitat they were not able to reach before. The land where once chukars, rabbits and robins lived now becomes fields to grow food for city dwellers, who are not aware of what has been lost. We found no chukars or rabbits in the bushes on that slope.

Turkish hunters have not yet learned the meaning of "conservation." Hunters and villagers together wiped out the chukars and rabbits from those mountains, where once they were abundant, by killing them in the wrong seasons, without limits. They collected wild bird eggs just to eat for breakfast. This is how the wild voices disappeared from the Anatolian mountains.

Mehmet Ekizoğlu