A/N: I hope you think of this story next time you see an animal and think of it as a lesser being.

It's Just a Rabbit

Chief's eyes narrowed and the ends of his mouth drew back in a dry, ironic frown rendered even more condescending by the wizened silver hairs that coated his tough hide.

"For cryin' out loud, Copper," Chief said, "it's just a rabbit!"

The younger hound turned his brown eyes back to the bloodied, wounded animal on the ground. The rabbit's fur was soft as an aimless cloud drifting across a summer sky, white as pure snow in its winter coat, and as pitiful and fragile as said snow doomed to melt into nothingness.

Copper regretted stunning the rabbit—catching the snowflake.

The buildup had been intense. The morning had been frosty and still, and Copper had felt sluggish at first when he and Chief were taken into the snowy woods for that day's hunt. The first kill of the day was always the most exciting, the most invigorating. Copper snuffled about listlessly for a while, but as soon as he caught the scent of his prey, his body warmed with a surge of blood.

"Do you smell it?" chief asked, yawning coolly.

Copper's tail lashed like a whip. "Oh yeah, you bet! It's a rabbit! Let me catch it this time, Chief, please? I want to make the master happy."

Before Chief could reply in the negative—he was rather jealous of Copper's recent killings—the younger dog bounded forward like a dart, nose to the ground.

Ahead, a shadow moved on the tranquil carpet of snow. The rabbit! Copper stiffened, took a breath, and shot off once more. He howled as he ran, proud of his deep, bellowing bay that had matured from a puppy's squeak.

The rabbit darted. Copper was on his tail. The rabbit whisked sharply to the right, and the hound followed suit, kicking up snow as he swerved. Picking up speed, the rabbit propelled itself mightily, making full use of his taut leg muscles. Blood pumped through Copper's veins as his heart raced with kill-joy and thrill. With his tongue lolling out of his mouth, cold air filling his lungs, paws smacking the ground with force enough to dent metal, the young hound galloped. He gasped for breath, now just inches behind his speedy prey.

Suddenly Copper's teeth clamped down on the rabbit. It squealed. The blow was poorly aimed and Copper got a mouthful of blood and fur instead of hitting and snapping the neck bone. He steadied himself from the pounce, ready to shake the rabbit to death.

Behind, Chief and Angus were coming.

Copper dropped the rabbit long enough to bark excitedly as his master, but as soon as the rabbit was on the ground, it drew his gaze like a magnet. There it was, bloodied and helpless, too shocked to move any part of its body besides it eyes, which rolled crazily around in a fit of terror.

Copper frowned. "Look, Chief," he said; "the poor little thing!"

The older dog came loping up, and it was at this time when he gave Copper the ridiculing look and said in exasperation, "For cryin' out loud, Copper, it's just a rabbit!"

"You're right," Copper shrugged, licking blood off his teeth. "What's a rabbit to me?"

"Nothin' at all, that's what," Chief sneered. "A rabbit's life don't mean nothin, Copper. They only live to be killed, and that makes master proud of us. And it's our job to make master proud of us, ain't it?"

"Right," Copper agreed.

But he was not as confident as his voice suggested. Angus came over with his gun raised to kill the rabbit that was yet living. Copper looked from the gun back to the helpless rabbit, and for a second he thought about interceding and saving it.

But that was only a brief second, and it passed. Angus shot. The rabbit died. Copper had done his job.

"Good boy, Copper! Good boy!" Angus laughed heartily.

Copper reveled in the praise. And why should he not? After all, it was just a rabbit.

Months later, Copper would look back and see in his mind's eye that same memory: Chief's words, "It's just a rabbit." Copper remembered that when he saw Angus aiming his cocked rifle right at the Fox.

The Fox, Todd. He stood dripping in the shallow water, weary and weak. How small he looked with his usually fluffy fur sticking to his skin like a tight swimsuit.

Todd was just a fox. Foxes did not matter. Their lives were worthless because they were lesser beings, and everyone knew that higher beings and lesser beings do not mingle. Foxes, Copper knew, were thieves and vermin, and they lacked the intelligence and loyalty of the Superior Race of Hounds. Yes indeed, Todd was just a fox.

Todd ought to die. It was only natural.

But it was something very unnatural that struck a cord deep in Copper's heart and made him act. Love was not natural; it broke the rules. Love could see past the barriers of race and species and alleged superiority. It was like a gunshot going off in his head, that realization that, I love this fox! I love him even though he's a fox, even though it's his fault Chief got hurt. And even though it will make master unhappy, I love this fox too much to let him die.

Copper loved Todd with all the passion in his heart.

He stood in front of the gun.

"But Copper," Angus' bewildered expression seemed to suggest, "for cryin' out, it's just a fox!"

"Yes," Copper thought in reply, "And you're just a man."

Angus lowered his gun.

The End.