I’ve been writing folk songs and recording them. I have no pretensions about my voice, my musicianship, and songwriting talent, and I rarely perform in public. I enjoy being an amateur.
A recent song called, “Run at the Bunnies”, recalls an incident with my father. He took me squirrel hunting when I was about twelve. I got lost in the woods, scared off game by tromping over dead leaves, and came down with poison oak.
Dad and Mom decided that I wouldn’t go hunting again. I felt relief as I hadn’t enjoyed the prospect of shooting squirrels and gutting them. (On hot days, a hunter had to cut open the belly, insert a thumb, and scoop out the intestines. The game would go bad if this disgusting job was neglected.)
A few years later, Dad approached me and offered to take me rabbit hunting. Except I wouldn’t shoot at anything. I asked him what I would be doing instead. After some hemming and hawing, he finally revealed that I would act as a beater. I would scare the rabbits into the open so that Dad and a few of his brothers could take aim with their shotguns. In effect, he was politely asking me to be his hound dog. I politely said no.
I made a video this morning featuring photos of my dad from back when. As I worked, I started to miss him. He died in 2021, and there are times when I’d like to take a car trip with him one more time. We wouldn’t say much, maybe swap a few stories, but would mostly enjoy each other’s silent company. And a song intended to be funny became sad.
It’s odd how memories cut in all directions.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZiUuQNh-6ss&ab_channel=DennisSchmalstiig
Lyrics with guitar chords:
Chorus.
(C) Last time you…scared off the game, (D7) got dirt on your (G) gun, made me question if you’re (C) really (G) my (C) son.
(C) Won’t you run at the bunnies, (D7) it’ll be (G) fun. Make tails skipper-scamper and (C) don’t (G) worry (C) none.
Verse 1. We meet in the stubble–used to be corn. The land’s in trouble, the farm’s outworn…Won’t you run at the bunnies…
2. There’s coneys in the bushes, rabbits in the brush. If you run right at ’em they’ll come out in a rush.
3. Buckshot doesn’t hurt ’em. They don’t scream long. We eat what we kill, ain’t doing nothing wrong.
4. Yeah, Eddy likes whiskey, takes nips from a flask. His hands stay steady, so why did you ask?
5. The beagle got cancer. Old Bowser dropped dead. So, what’s you answer? Stop shaking your head, and run at the bunnies…
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