He found it in the garden as he was planting his potatoes.
It was tiny; looked a little like a rabbit, all grey and fluffy. It was adorable, and when he picked it up, it nuzzled his hand all cute and shit, he decided he was going to keep it. It purred and nuzzled some more and he smiled.
At first, it tickled, like small teeth gnawing at the centre of his palm, and then he felt a short, sharp pain. He tried to remove the thing with his other hand, tried to shake it off but it held fast. The pain was getting greater, and he could see that he had begun to bleed; his blood was starting to soak its fur, turning it a deep red. He could hear loud screams, unaware that they were his. Foolishly flinging his hand vigorously, he continued trying to shake it off but it had eaten down past the flesh of his palm and into the muscles and progressing quickly. It was fast and was making light work of his hand with its with sharp, sharp teeth. He was going to lose his hand and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew that if he didn’t do something drastic, he would lose his entire arm to whatever this thing was.
A wave of vertigo hit and he could feel his consciousness slipping. He was about to pass out, the darkness creeping in from his peripheral vision. Groaning in pain, he stumbled to the shed, holding the hand that burned in pain, his vision blurry and distorted. He found the axe quickly. He laid his hand against the worktable he would never use again and with a vicious slash, it, along with his hand, came off.