Outdoors With Kevin Fox: Snow and Christmas Also Meant Rabbit Hunting to Me

By Editor | December 12, 2025

There’s a very old saying: “When God closes a door, he then opens a window.” It has been attributed to both Helen Keller and Alexander Graham Bell. However, it may be in the movie The Sound of Music where it takes on a more Christian reference, according to experts. It implies that when things don’t go according to our plans, there may be benefits or possibilities elsewhere. It’s a good saying for an optimist. It’s like Noah saying, “Well, the garden drowned out, but now I have more time to fish!”

I’m an optimist by nature, and I think it’s a requirement for those of us who spend a great deal of our lives hunting and fishing. If I came home depressed every time I failed to take an animal or catch a fish, I’d probably give it up in time. But I look for the other things— just being out there, making the attempt, and enjoying what I see. Sometimes I win; sometimes I lose. If I spend the morning trying to call a tom away from a couple of hens and I fail, I’m more likely to say, “Looks like there will be more poults this summer.”

The duck season hasn’t been all that I had hoped for. The biggest problem is the weather. The first month of the season, we had no ducks because weather up north didn’t push them to warmer climates, nor did snow cover the croplands and push them south. So, waterfowlers were wishing for bad weather—but not here.

At the time of year when I should be doing well on ducks, I also got snow. That’s not bad—I’ve killed waterfowl with snow on the ground— but they are called waterfowl because of their relationship with water. My water is presently frozen, and on the day I’m writing this, I’m leaving to salvage my decoys from the grip of ice rather than wait until spring. When I saw the snow and the forecast of frigid air, I knew duck hunting would be over unless we get a warmup.

While I might be putting the shotgun away until the next crow hunt, I brought out the .22 for a family tradition—rabbit hunting. I’m hoping we still have snow on the ground during Christmas break so my grandson and I can go to the farm and get a rabbit or two.

I was thinking about how long I’ve been pursuing rabbits. It takes me back to when I was in fifth or sixth grade using a Crosman CO2 pellet rifle. I’ve used just about everything imaginable for rabbits—from shotguns to archery gear. That also includes pistols. Rabbit season opens Oct. 1 and runs through Feb. 15. The daily limit is six rabbits. As always, check the Missouri Department of Conservation website for more details.

When I mentioned using a shotgun to harvest rabbits, I was referring to a .410 like the one my mother had. Dad’s good friend Gilbert Sargeant from St. Francisville used to visit our farm, and he also used a .410. My father was a “one gun does it all” kind of guy and used his Browning A5. If the rabbit was running, he’d give it plenty of lead. If it was sitting still, he’d usually aim high— either way, it was to keep most of the shot in the head.

I’ve stalked along the hedgerows near our farm or on the way to Grandpa and Grandma Cannon’s, and rabbits play this little game— if they don’t run, they believe they’re invisible. Those were fun hunts on snowy days. Later, I used a .22, starting with a Noble single-shot, then a Sears semi-auto. I put a full-size scope on the Sears rifle instead of one of those smaller tube scopes. It was a deadly combination. I later put a full-size scope on a Browning BL-22.

One thing that may have differed from most was my preference for .22 short or short hollow points. With that combination, I took only headshots— or I didn’t take the shot at all.

By far, the best way in those days to hunt rabbits was with a beagle—for us, that was Herman, and later Jughead. There were several places we had permission to hunt. Dad, Ray Eller, and I would let Herman go, and very shortly he’d be on the trail of one. At one particular spot, there was an old pull-type combine I’d climb on top of, and from that vantage point, I’d pick off rabbits that weren’t being trailed but were trying to sneak around him. It was a great time.

The Sears .22 was zeroed in for 25 yards, much like a centerfire rifle at 100 yards. At 25 yards, I still want a 1-inch group with my .22. At 50 yards— much farther than I’d normally try for a rabbit—it would be about 1½ inches low.

The thing about rabbit hunting that makes it special is that there’s something for everyone. If you want to use a target rifle that can take the shoes off a centipede at 60 feet, have at it. If you want to use Grandpa’s old side-by-side, that’s a great place for it. To be honest, I have an old Colt New Frontier with adjustable sights that probably has most of the rifling shot out of the barrel from so much use. I still carry it from time to time when walking on fresh snow. It’s put many a rabbit in the skillet since I bought it fifty years ago.

I used to say I’d rather dress a deer than a squirrel. I’d certainly rather dress a deer than a limit of squirrels—I always seem to leave so much hair on them. But you can shuck a rabbit out pretty quickly. I remember Dad doing it while we were still in the field, which always seemed better than waiting until we got home. Once he had them skinned and gutted, he’d take a handful of snow and wipe down the carcass to remove any hair or blood. He also carried a 5-gallon bucket in his Scout and would stick the carcasses in the bucket, then fill the rest with snow.

When we got home, Dad would quarter the rabbits and put them in a large Tupperware bowl to soak in a little salt water. I never saw Dad make biscuits— that seemed to be Mom’s job—but Dad would cook the rabbit quarters and saddles in an electric skillet. Once everything was cooked, he or she would then add flour to the drippings and make gravy.

I enjoy nearly all wild game, and I’ve eaten things that surprised me with how tasty they were. But a rabbit leg, a biscuit, and a plate covered with gravy ranks near the top.