By Sadie-Phoenix Lavoie I remember the early days when my older brothers would come home with a freshly snared wabos. I grew up in the reserve, so seeing dead animals was a normal way of living. I was not saddened because rabbits were adorable, instead I was deeply intrigued and wildly curious what they planned on doing it with it once it was snared. They would go into the laundry room and sit on an old dingy pail to begin the process of skinning the animal. I would watch between the slight crack in the door while I sat in the hallway. I didn’t want them to be distracted by my attentivene
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