The rabbit who tries to flee from the stoat embodies the futile human urge to flee from what is beyond our control. While the narrator identifies the rabbit specifically with his father, every character in the story is running from something inescapable. The narrator’s father runs from the inevitability of loss in relationships, abandoning Miss McCabe when her health scare seemingly reminds him of his late wife’s death. The narrator shrinks away from addressing the strain between him and his father, telling his father what he wants to hear because he’s afraid of being honest. And Miss McCabe flees from loneliness into a relationship with the narrator’s father, who is unable to soothe her loneliness because of his own selfishness and fear of loss.
But just as the rabbit finally gave up and waited for the stoat to arrive, the characters cannot avoid eventually facing what they fear. The narrator’s father cannot have relationships without the risk of loss, and everyone will inevitably find their way into the death notices that he habitually reads. And despite the narrator’s efforts to avoid conflict, he is unable to deny his growing distaste for his father’s behavior and comes to be ashamed of him at the end of the story. Finally, Miss McCabe once again ends up alone when the narrator’s father abandons her. Like the rabbit running from the stoat, the characters’ flight doesn’t get them any further from what they feared; it simply creates a false sense of control until the inevitable happens.
The Rabbit Quotes in The Stoat
I was standing over the rabbit when I saw the grey body of the stoat slithering away like a snake into the long grass. The rabbit still did not move, but its crying ceased…It did not stir when I stooped. Never before did I hold such pure terror in my hands, the body trembling in a rigidity of terror. I stilled it with a single stroke.
Then as I crossed to the next tee I saw the stoat cross the fairway following me still…As I made my way back to the cottage my father rented every August, twice I saw the stoat, following the rabbit still, though it was dead.
All night the rabbit must have raced from warren to warren, the stoat on its trail. Plumper rabbits had crossed the stoat’s path but it would not be deflected; it had marked down this one rabbit to kill. No matter how fast the rabbit raced, the stoat was still on its trail, and at last the rabbit sat down in terror and waited for the stoat to slither up and cut the vein behind the ear. I had heard it crying as the stoat was drinking its blood.
My father was reading the death notices on the back of the Independent on the lawn of the cottage. He always read the death notices first, and then, after he had exhausted the news and studied the ads for teachers, he’d pore over the death notices again.
“Another colleague who was in Drumcondra the same year as myself has gone to his reward”
…I held up the rabbit by way of answer.
“Where did you get that?”
“A stoat was killing it on the links.”
“That’s what they do. Why did you bring it back?”
“I just brought it. The crying gave me a fright.”
“My God, if you hang round long enough you see everything.”
My uncle combed his fingers through his long greying hair. He was a distinguished man and his confidence and energy could be intimidating. “At least, if he does get married, it’ll get him off your back.”
“He’s all right,” I replied defensively. “I’m well used to him by now.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Clear out,” he said. “There is no other way.”
As if all the irons were suddenly being truly struck and were flowing from all directions to the heart of the green, I saw that my father had started to run like the poor rabbit. He would have been better off if he could have tried to understand something, even though it would get him off nothing…Because I was ashamed of him I carried everything he wanted to the car.