Too Many Rabbits

A Red River Métis Fable

Once there lived a woman known for her kindness and skill. She had strong hands for sewing, a sharp eye for tracking, and a heart that never said no.

If someone needed medicine, she made time to gather. If a child needed feeding, she shared her last bannock. If a neighbour needed help mending, she stayed up late to stitch.

One winter, rabbits began appearing at her cabin door, just one at first, small and shivering.

“Oh my, you look cold,” she said, wrapping it in a scrap of wool. “Come in and stay here by the stove.”

The next day, there were two more, then five… then ten. All soft-eyed and silent, crowding the corners, hiding under chairs, curling in her blankets. She fed them what she could, gave them names, and made tiny nests of moss.

Still they came.

She tended to all of them from before sunrise to long after the moon was bright in the night sky. She stitched and cleaned and swept up fur and scattered pellets, but she was too tired to even brush her own hair and too weary to sing… and the bread never rose quite right anymore.

One morning, the woman’s old auntie came knocking.

“Girl,” she said, peering in past the door frame at the commotion inside. “Where have you been? You’ve let all these rabbits take over your cabin!”

“They need me,” the woman said. “If I don’t care for them, who will?”

“But who’s caring for you?” the auntie asked. “Even a good heart can drown when it gives too much.”

The woman sat with that for a long time. That evening, she opened the door and gently let the rabbits go, those that could fend for themselves. A few stayed, the smallest and the sick, but the cabin grew quiet again. The fire burned steadily and, the next morning, the bread rose just right. 

If one takes on too many burdens, no matter how soft, they will wear a good soul thin.