“It’s not fair,” Frank Nelson complained to his brother Steve a few weeks after the funeral. They were having beers at The Swamp, the local watering hole for the northern Minnesota town of Woodtick. The irony of Maggie having been killed by a drunk driver was not lost on them. Frank’s pain was undeniable: “It’s not fair at all.”

Frank was a burly man who wore his hair long, his beard full, and dressed in a red flannel shirt, jeans, and suspenders no matter what the weather. He was an independent logger, one of the last in the area, and a macho guy if there ever was one. But tonight, he wrapped his gnarled hands around his bottle of Bud and tried not to cry. “Lord, Steve, I miss her so much.”

Three miles away at their cabin in the woods, Frank’s ten-year-old son Neil was all alone. He lay in bed doing what his dad refused to do; he was crying. He missed his mom. He missed the way things used to be.

Two months later, the father and son were slowly coming to grips with the tragic loss. During the week, Neil took the school bus six miles into town and went to class in the fifth grade, while Frank cut timber in the forests. On the weekend, sometimes Neil helped his father. At all times, they shared responsibility for the large vegetable garden Maggie had planted and maintained meticulously in the years before she died.

Neil’s job was to weed, and Frank’s was to “keep the varmints away,” as he put it. He used a single-shot, bolt-action .22 rifle, dispatching squirrels, chipmunks, and the occasional rabbit with abandon.

Much to his son’s horror.

“Dad, do you really have to do that?” Neil pleaded just before his father fired at a rabbit munching on some lettuce. Fortunately, his dad missed and the rabbit ran off, to Neil’s immense relief.

“Damn.” Frank lowered the gun and looked his son straight in the eye. “Yeah, I do. I do have to kill them. It’s your mom’s garden. I owe it to her to protect it.”

Neil didn’t want to say anything to anger his father. Experience had proven he had a quick temper, but the longer the killing went on, the more it bothered him.

One day, Neil watched sorrowfully as his father spotted a small rabbit hopping along the edge of the garden. His dad chambered a round, clicked the safety off, and raised the rifle. Neil turned away, not wanting to see the rabbit explode in a mass of blood, guts, and fur.

He didn’t see what happened next.

The animal froze. Frank locked in on the rabbit’s eyes. The rabbit stared at him while Frank stared at the rabbit. He noticed a twinkle in one of the rabbit’s brown eyes. What the? He asked himself. Seconds ticked by. Time seemed to stand still.

Then the little cottontail slowly blinked.

Frank blinked, too, and in the moment of his blinking, he thought of his beloved wife, of his lovely Maggie, gone these past months. He missed her so much. What would she think of him taking his anger and frustration at her death out on a poor, defenseless creature? The answer was obvious. She’d hate it.

Frank clicked the safety to the on position and lowered the rifle.

Neil heard the click. What was going on? He turned to his father. “Dad?” He stepped up and put his hand on his father’s arm. “Dad, are you okay?”

Frank responded by putting his hand on his son’s shoulder. He smiled and said, “I am, son. I’m good. “ He looked to see where the rabbit had been. It moved over and was nibbling on some carrot tops. Frank grinned. “But I’ve had it. No more killing. It solves nothing.”

Neil’s heart leapt in joy at the news. What a change of events! But, being a boy of few words, all he could think of to say was, “That’s good, Dad.”

Frank walked to the garage carrying the .22. Neil rushed after him.”Dad, hold on. What are you going to do?”

Frank put the rifle barrel in a vice and picked up a hacksaw. “What’s it look like?” He pulled the blade across the barrel.“Like I said, no more killing.”

Neil couldn’t believe it. His father was going to destroy the gun!

“Good!” Neil grinned with relief. “I liked that bunny.” He hurried to grab another saw. “Mind if I help?”

Frank smiled as he stopped sawing and gave his son a one-armed hug. “Not at all,” he said. “The more the merrier.”

Together, Frank and Neil went to work with their saws. Five minutes later, the rifle was completely destroyed. It would never be used to kill another living creature. They’d made sure of it.