Le massacre des Bunnies
The Lovely Doreen let me sleep in this morning while she finished making her world famous chocolate-covered carmel pretzel rods. When I woke up, I looked at the foot of the bed and noticed something odd.
I knew it wasn’t a mouse. Too big, and we don’t have mice. Kind of looking like a small rabbit. A kids toy I didn’t know about? A new dog toy?
“Doreen!” I yelled. “Could you come here?”
“I’m very busy right now. It will be just for a second.”
She got no further than the hallway. “Oh my God! What the hell is that?”
Well, that settled it. There was more than one. My dog, Ingrid, was bringing “presents” into the house – dead baby bunnies.
“Oh my god, there’s another one!”
Another one by the front door. We did a search of the house and fortunately there were only the three of them.
I sent my son into the yard to check for more. He came back to report my dog had found a nest and she had another in her mouth. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, as John Wayne said. Out I went, grabbing the dog poop scoop by the back door.
I spotted my fifteen-year-old siberian husky in the yard with the baby rabbit. In her younger days, Ingrid would have been tough to chase down. Of course, in her younger days, Ingrid would have caught the adult. I reached to grab her and she dropped the bunny without a fight.
I disposed of the bunny she was holding, and then found another dead one in the yard. I don’t think Ingrid got that one. It looked like a runt that didn’t make it.
I found one survivor that made a run for it when I poked it with the scooper. Perhaps the survivor will tell the other bunnies in the neighborhood that the “beware of dog” sign means what it says. Even if she is fifteen.