Snow Rabbit is a unique species found in the Kanto Mountains, sharing similarities with animals like the purple pheasant, mink, dragon, golden eagle, red deer, moose, brown bear, and primitive pheasant. Protecting these creatures is essential for maintaining ecological balance.
Known for its exquisite meat, which is considered a delicacy at feasts, the Snow Rabbit also has valuable fur that serves as high-quality accessories and winter protection. Its internal organs and excrement are highly valued in traditional medicine. For instance, its droppings can treat diarrhea, acne, and eye problems. When mixed with sheep manure or other herbal remedies, it becomes a powerful treatment for more severe conditions such as vomiting blood, hematuria, and rectal bleeding.
As a vulnerable herbivore, the Snow Rabbit faces numerous natural predators, including golden eagles, foxes, wolves, leopards, hawks, owls, and even scorpions. Humans, driven by greed, also pose a significant threat to their survival. I, too, have been part of this cycle.
In the spring of 1969, near the western bank of the Big Heli River in Hegang City, I first joined a hunting expedition to chase Snow Rabbits. At that time, hunting was still common. A gunner named Si’angao, who had no other tasks, led my family’s yellow dog to track the rabbits. His dog was over a meter tall, with round eyes, sharp ears, and an insatiable appetite. It would eat half a bowl of food daily. In winter, it could pull a sled quickly, and in autumn, it helped catch wild boars. However, spring boars were leaner and often outpaced the dogs. Still, the task of chasing rabbits was exhausting. After a full day of running, the dog eventually died from exhaustion.
After hunting, it's best to search for tracks in winter. By following the trail, you can often find the rabbits. These animals have poor eyesight but rely heavily on their sense of smell and hearing. They are usually inactive during the day and come out only at night under the moonlight, moving along the slopes. Tracking them requires experience, and even then, it's challenging. This time, my dog’s nose was far more sensitive than mine. Nandagang was their home, and even forest rangers came to hunt them.
In early May, when the grass turns green, female rabbits enter estrus, and males begin shedding their fur. This is the prime season for rabbit sightings. However, our hunting team followed strict rules: herbivores like Snow Rabbits were not to be hunted with guns. It was considered unethical to shoot them, especially if they were mating. No one wanted to face the guilt of killing a pair. Although I was young and unaware, the elders were wise and always sought to act honorably. Hunting with dogs was acceptable, seen as both a skill and a virtue.
One evening, two Snow Rabbits appeared on the cliffside, frightened and anxious. My yellow dog rushed forward, and I shouted encouragement. I had never seen such a large Snow Rabbit before. The male ran ahead, weighing at least 20 pounds, while the smaller female followed. Under the bushes, they might have been celebrating their love or planning their future. The dog, perhaps unimpressed by the female, focused on the male. But suddenly, the female turned back and ran toward me. Instinctively, I swung my stick and hit her. She fell to the ground, and I proudly picked her up, shouting, “Mom, how could you run back? Moths fly toward death!†I felt a pang of regret—why did she return?
The rabbit was beautiful, with clear white fur and brown tips on its ears. But its hind legs were paralyzed, and it struggled to move. Its eyes remained fixed on the direction it had fled from, as if searching for something. I realized then—it was a mother protecting her young. Her burrow was nearby, and she had returned to save her offspring. This selfless act touched me deeply.
Under the fallen logs, I found four newborn rabbits, barely able to walk. I took one in my hand, and the wounded mother looked at me with sorrow. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to comfort her baby. Her movements were desperate, and her cries echoed with pain. I placed the baby next to her, and she struggled to reach it, trying to nurse. Her love was so intense that I couldn’t help crying. Despite her injuries, she remained calm and gentle, a true mother.
I felt deep regret for what I had done. I should not have listened to the elders’ orders. Carrying the rabbits home, I hoped to make amends for my actions. But the yellow dog, seeing the rabbits in my hands, lunged at them. I tried to stop it, but it was too late—the rabbit was already swallowed. Dogs are loyal, yet sometimes cruel. I was furious, kicked the dog, and ran away in shame.
Then, the male rabbit returned. Perhaps he was drawn by the scent of his mate. He risked everything to come back, daring to challenge the dog again. He leaped high, his eyes fierce and alert. The dog chased him, but the rabbit moved with incredible speed, making sudden turns mid-run. Eventually, the dog slipped off the cliff, and I watched in horror as it fell. When I reached the spot, the dog was dead, tongue hanging out, eyes wide open. The male rabbit stood silently on the cliff, and I shivered with fear.
This experience left a lasting impact on me. I learned that even in the wild, life is precious, and every creature has its own story.
Ankle Safety Shoes,Black Safety Shoes,Leather Safety Shoes,Ankle Leather Safety Shoes
Brightway Shoes Co., Ltd. , https://www.brightwaysafety.com