The life and death of Thieving Bunny
Thieving Bunny got through my fence last week and enjoyed my newly ripe tomatoes right off the plants.
I was apoplectic. I cursed him on facebook. I referred to him as a “scorbutical bucktoothed cur!” Captain Comic cracked up about this epithet to no end. He is probably still wandering around at his father’s house giggling himself silly and repeating it with his fist raised at the sky.
Grandma was agog and aghast at his little bunny chutzpah in hopping up on the deck to peer through the slider to see what the humans were up to.
Under other circumstances of the non-gardening defense variety, I watched his cute little bunniness hop around the yard. He was a joyous little bunny. I chased him down one day to discover his rabbit hole in my fence. I placed a concrete block in front of it the morning of the boys’ journey to their father.
Apparently he had another rabbit hole somewhere, because, today, while watering various garden patches and flowering bushes around our little homestead, I encounter the furry remains of Thieving Bunny between the yew and the chewed remains of the butterfly bush I planted this spring.
Lucy the Terrorizing Terrier finally earned her keep. She is the little black dog of rodent death. She has played solo doggie badminton with moles in the past, gleefully flipping them in the air by her jaws and whapping at them with her paws across the yard. She has brought moles and voles into the house as gifts, but this was her first rabbit kill.
I am at once proud of our little dog and mourning the bunny death. I love bunnies. I mean, I really love bunnies. I love bunnies just shy of having a houseful of bunny figurines. Admittedly there are a few tasteful and funky ones about the premises. My nickname pre-braces was Bugs. I love carrots, I have a true affinity with the universal bunny energy.
But Thieving Bunny ate my tomatoes. He crossed the line in terrier territory.