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Once More, With Feeling…

Foster hound Birdie has approximately nine teeth. The remainder were removed because the assholes who owned her bred her half to death, neglected her and then dumped her on a farm to die with a half-necrotic tail and teeth rotting out of her head. Fortunately she was rescued, her tail bobbed and major dental work done.

So imagine my surprise when her sniffing expedition in one of my large ivy beds resulted in a baby bunny – in her mouth.

There was screaming. From the rabbit, not me. And I don’t know about you, but if I could go my Whole Life and never hear another bunny scream, I would be a very happy woman.

I yelled. I snapped the leash. Birdie dropped her treasure. It landed in the dry brown leaves, weaving like it’d had one too many martinis.

Bunny: Hop, hop left ….. Hop…hop right… hop, hop… fuck it, I’m just gonna lie here…

A few seconds tick by wherein none of us move.

Me: Crap, is it dead?

Birdie: Mom, can’t I – ow, don’t pull so hard.

Folly (just now tuning in; she’s old and a little senile): Hey, Fresh Lunch!

*Lunge*

Me: STOP TRYING TO EAT THE BUNNY! NOBODY IS GOING TO EAT THE BUNNY!

My neighbor has two young teenage boys. As my luck would have it, both were outside with their dog, Allie, a socially retarded golden lab type critter. At this point, I can almost hear the conversation they’ll be having with their parents later. But I can’t concern myself with that; there is still the matter of the small brown rabbit lying in my leaves, its tiny perfect dark brown ears and little smear of a tail….

Me: Bunny? Bun-ny? (I stomp the ground lightly) C’mon Bunny, move.

Nothing.

Carefully I transfer both leashes into one hand and slowly reach down and touch the possible murder victim on his hind flank. As if finally deciding this whole I’ll-be-really-still-and-blend-into-the-leaves-and-they’ll-leave-me-alone tactic wasn’t going to work, the rabbit disappeared casually into ferns and ivy.

I drag the dogs back into the house. Birdie has her head low, her big round eyes following me.

Birdie: Did I do something wrong, Mom?

Me: No sweetheart, you can’t help who you are. (kiss, kiss, nuzzle, nuzzle) Just try to control yourself, okay? Some people find the murder of small animals a bit distasteful.

Birdie: Okay, mom. I love you.

Me: I know, Birdie. I love you too.

Good news: I have baby bunnies.
Bad news: I live with bunny bounty hunters.

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