When I was young I lived deep in the forests of the PNW. No one was around for miles, the nearest town was 12 miles away.
My step-brother wasn’t very nice to the animals … he threw a rock and hit a squirrel in a tree, knocking it to the ground. I rushed to it, scooped up its stiff little body and headed home to nurse it. A few steps into my journey it woke up … frightened, and bit me hard. I shook my hand and arm feverishly but it would not release, at least right away.
People are sort of like that brother, and the squirrel.
Someone knocked me out of my tree a time or two and yes, after awhile it became ‘bite the hand that hurts you, AND the hand that’s trying to help you’ … and why? Fear … an “I’m going to get them before they can get me” mentality.
We must learn how to stop biting each other. And stop throwing rocks at each other.