This blog covers everything except sports and gardening, unless we find a really good link about using dead professional bowlers for mulch. The author is a StarTribune columnist, has been passing off fiction and hyperbole as insight since 1997, has run his own website since the Jurassic era of AOL, and was online when today’s college sophomores were a year away from being born. So get off his lawn.
We have bunnies in the backyard. Four cute little balls all nestled together under some woodchips.
This is not about them. This is about the dog. Every wolfy instinct says: hors d’oeuvres. The smell of interloper rabbits in his territory is maddening - in fact we discovered the nest when he spent an inordinate amount of time barking and sniffing at the lair. For a few days he could barely be restrained, and I concluded my old dog had turned into a bunny-chewer. Hannibal Hefner.
But he didn’t eat them. He just barked, loud irritated barks, punctuated by looks at us: well? Rabbits! Just sitting there! Shouldn’t something be done? Don’t ask me; you’ve bred most of my natural desires out, thank you very much.
The last time we saw the mother, she was heading for the horizon when the dog showed up. Nice maternal instincts there, Nature. Yes, I know - live to breed another day, and all that, but at least you’d like to see some defense. Stand up and hiss, or something. Bunnies would have an entirely different reputation if they could spring six feet and go for the eyes; the Peter Cottontail books would side with Farmer McGregor.
Since Mom was obviously gone, doing the rabbit equivalent of pull-tabs-at-Mystic-Lake-with-the-kids-in-the-car, we worried about the health of the little creatures. It was clear Jasper Dog wouldn’t eat them, but the sight of Snoutus Enormous poking in the nest was probably hard on the babies. Even after the dog learned to keep a safe distance and grumble, we worried Mother Bunny would stagger home, see the dog, and run away again. So my wife called the Humane Society. An operator said “Please hold,” and transferred her to a pre-recorded message about bunnies. They’ve thought of everything.
The message said the mothers make infrequent visits, so don’t worry. Don’t try to feed them; they have special nutritional needs. Don’t pick them up, because they have delicate constitutions and can die suddenly from shock. So showing them those recent pictures of Madonna is definitely out of the questions. If it looks like Mother Bunny is gone for good, bring them in.
I’ll keep you posted. We’ve named them Flopsy, Mopsy, Dropsy and - well, the last one’s up to you.
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