Run…rabbit…run
It’s beagles vs. bunnies. Whose side are you on?
I have a tale to tell. It is a tale of tails, cotton tails as a matter of fact. As I begin to tell this tale however, it has occured to me that this isn’t really my story to tell. (Of course that’s never really stopped me before.) It really belongs to the protagonist in this story who I believe in this instance is my wife. I suppose it also means that my dog is the antagonist, which leads me to conclude that the rabbits therefore are the tragic heroes. However, I’m really not sure. Damn-it, I should have paid more attention in English class.
This whole sad saga began last Saturday when my wife and I had just returned from a lovely vacation in Northern, Italy, where ironically, they eat a lot of rabbits, but I digress. We were scouring the house that day, not so much a reflection on the job of cleaning and maintenance that my son provided while we were gone, as much as a certain standard that we like to maintain in the household regarding cleanliness which resides in very close proximity to Godliness, which sounds like the kind of neighborhood anyone would enjoy having access to. We had just about finished up our tasks, and my wife and son were already in the pool, and I was about to emerge from the house to do the same. All seemed well at first glance, but then upon a second study of their faces, I could see something was amiss.
“Oh, have I got your attention now?” (Getty Images)
My son and my wife looked at me, and my wife who now appeared to be somewhat upset stated, “Simon (Our pet Beagle/Basset mix or “Bagel”) just killed a couple of baby bunnies, and the mother rabbit tried to fight him off, but had to escape and now the dead bunnies are all over the yard!” I looked at my son and said, “And nobody tried to stop this?” My son responded by claiming that all they really saw was the tail end of the skirmish, and it was already too late. I proceeded to put my dog in the house and go on a dead bunny search and perhaps rescue mission. I found one of the dead baby-rabbits and scooped him up and disposed of him sans kaddish or any kind of last rights. However, when I located the other baby-bunny, I found that he was somehow still alive, but wounded. I yelled to my wife, “He’s alive, what would you like me to do?” She came over and immediately began to try to comfort the mortally wounded baby.
Where were all of these baby-rabbits coming from you ask? Well, they apparently had built a nest in our brand new vegetable/herb garden. At this point I should probably admit that my wife and I own a little bit of culpability in all of this rabbit carnage. While some plants have done better than others in our garden, one plant was doing almost too well, and it was a plant that quite honestly we had little clue over how to trim, cultivate, or utilize. The plant in question was a mint plant, and it was threatening to take over the entire garden. Since neither one of us owns any stock in Wrigley’s, and were not looking to sell our mint plant to the nearest purveyor of spearmint or peppermint gum, we decided to remove it, after all, it was taking over the garden according to my wife. I was opposed to this because it meant work, but rip it out I did. (In all honesty I swiftly concurred with my wife’s assessment since mint isn’t something I particularly care for unless it’s mixed with chocolate.) Upon removal of the mint plant, I found something most interesting.
“Eh, how could you Doc?” (You Tube)
Under the mint plant was what appeared to be a hole, and not a particularly deep one. It was covered in what appeared to be some grass, but mostly hair, and it had all of the markings of a nest of sorts. I saw something moving just under the “nest” barely under the dirt. My wife thought it might be a mole. I had no clue, and since most of my knowledge of wildlife was gained through my weekly Sunday night viewings of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom back in the early 1970s, I saw no reason to disagree with my wife’s assessment. I decided to leave the nest alone along with whatever was moving just under the nest which I couldn’t identify.
Now that we’ve established a little background information, let us travel back through the magic that is blogging to the day in question. Firstly, my wife and son claiming that my dog, a usually mild-mannered, if dim-witted Beagle/Basset mix who suffers from seizures, intense shyness around people, and is an expert at escaping our yard, had grabbed not one but two of the baby-rabbits in order to maul them, seemed to be a little bit of a stretch, but after I saw him with one of the babies in his mouth, I was quite sure he had been the perpetrator of this most foul of offenses carried out upon the rabbit population of our little burgh. However, the fact that he was able to pick off the bunnies from the now exposed nest located in our garden due to the fact that my wife and I had removed their cover, a.k.a., the mint plant, made both my wife and I feel a bit guilty over what went down. Mistakes were made. Apparently it wasn’t a mole after all. Damn you Marlon Perkins! Damn you to hell!!!
“Excuse me Mrs. Rabbit, is this the dog that mangled your bunnies?” “Yes it was horrible!” “Ma’am, please just answer the question, is this the dog?” “Yes!” she gently sobs…end scene. (Hoffman Collection)
My wife gathered up the baby-bunny that was still alive in some grass and leftover mint plant to try to comfort the mortally wounded lagomorpha. My son and I told her to put it back in the hole and hopefully it could get nursed back to health by the mother rabbit. I based this idea on literally nothing other than hope. I was hoping against hope. At least, I figured I wouldn’t have to look at it if it was back in the hole. My wife decided to reach out to a local rescue group, as well as deciding to call our vet, Dr. Burns. Dr. Burns told my wife we were doing all that we could but that it probably wasn’t going to help since the bunny was badly mauled by my dog. The rescue people claimed that the mother would not come back to help during the daytime because it would draw unnecessary attention to the nest. With at least one wounded bunny and upon closer examination of the nest, at least two more still alive we also had the challenge of what do with our dog who now had the scent of rabbit in his nose, as well as the taste of rabbit in his mouth, and was used to having the run of the backyard. I never had these problems with my fish tank growing up.
My wife learned other fun facts regarding the rabbits and their offspring:
- Baby rabbits or bunnies do not give off a scent. This meant that the mother rabbit’s use of the mint plant was to cover the bunnies from being seen, and not smelled.
- Baby bunnies need their mothers to urinate. Apparently bunnies can’t pee on their own, so the mother pushes on them and they expel their urine. (I figure I’m about five years from having to pee using this scenario.)
- Sometimes, the mother rabbit will abandon the nest completely, leaving the bunnies to an unfortunate fate.
- Wild bunnies can be raised in captivity, but then wish to be released out into the wild. Apparently they become obnoxious and ill-tempered when being handled once they are ready to be on their own. (Just like all teenagers.)
- It takes two to three weeks for babies to be ready to leave their nest, which meant that my dog was going to be in purgatory for a long time. Plus, sometimes the bunnies come back for another few weeks just to sleep in the hole. Yes, this was going to be fun.
My wife’s improved safety feature for the bunnies. She used the “KanJam” to protect the bunnies from predators, a.k.a., our dog, while still leaving a small slot for the mother to crawl in and press the pee right out of her little off-spring. Meanwhile, my “KanJam” skills deteriorated badly. (Hoffman Collection)
We of course would have no way of knowing when the bunnies were born, and therefore, we couldn’t possibly know when they would be ready to leave the nest. This meant that our dog might not have been able to lounge about in his yard for days or even weeks. Beagles do not do well on tethers, they need to roam around and sniff out the world. I began to count down the days, hoping this would all blow over soon.
Sunday — Day One
My dog’s first day under house arrest begins. He is not allowed to be outside in the backyard unless he is fully tethered. Meanwhile the injured baby-bunny is still alive, but barely. We tether the dog in the backyard, and he immediately gets all tangled up, and begins to try and bite his way through the cord. We take him off the tether and realize this is not going to be easy. My son and daughter-in-law arrive with their dog, “Meatball.” “The Meat” doesn’t have much interest in rabbits or much of anything else, so he can roam in the backyard if he chooses. Simon our crazed canine must remain on the leash, which causes him to be more anxious. Eventually Simon and Meatball get into a scrap over a bone and have to be separated. The tension amongst the dogs is palpable. Suddenly, my mother’s decision to get rid of my dog after two days when I was six seems much more logical.
Monday — Day Two
My wife checks on the injured bunny. He/she has succumbed to his/her injuries sustained when my dog did what nature and millions of years of evolution have trained it to do. She gives the young bunny a proper burial…I think. I didn’t see what she did, and she didn’t go into detail. Just like a good contract hit by the Mafia, the less you know the better. Now there are two bunnies inside the KanJam. My wife claims that the mother rabbit visited the nest during the night, so she must still be caring for the bunnies. It will be another long day for the dog. However, he is calmer today, and seems okay with being on the leash in the backyard, provided we give him a bone to chew.
Some rabbits are not to be trifled with. (https://cheezburger.com/6090543872/vicious-killer-rabbit)
Tuesday — Day Three
My wife takes a video of the surviving bunnies still holed up in the hole, and is happy to report that they seem to be doing well, and may even be almost ready to leave the nest. This is excellent news for my dog, but more importantly it’s really good news for me since I have to work much harder as a dog owner if my dog can’t just be let out to roam freely in the yard. Now I have to walk him and engage with him, and that’s not America, that’s not even Canada! All is not well however, My wife reports that the mother rabbit doesn’t seem to have returned to the nest. “Fear not,” my wife exclaims, “I’m hopeful that they will be scampering away any day now.”
Wednesday — Day Four
My interest in dogs, bunnies, and any other wild creature has taken a backseat to my plans for the day which include going with my two sons to witness the red hot New York Mets take on a bunch of guys, better known, but just barely, as the Miami Marlins. My wife gets up early before I leave and reports the bunnies are not looking well, and she believes that the mother has abandoned them. She calls the wildlife rescue people who she has been in contact with all week, and informs them of this unfortunate circumstance. They ask her if she can bring them to Rotterdam where they are located. As if the divine has intervened himself, my wife just happens to work in Rotterdam. It’s all coming together now. They tell my wife to put the bunnies on a heating pad, and drive them to the rescue shelter. My wife duly complies, but sadly only one of the bunnies survives the harrowing trip in her luxury sedan. The other however is thriving I’m happy to report under the loving care of the rescue people in Rotterdam, New York. The nice lady at the rescue shelter pushed all of the pee out of the baby bunny, and gave it water, and it should be hopping its way out into the wild any day now.
My wife and I discussing our options regarding what to do about the bunnies. (Getty Images)
I’m hopeful going forward that we can now put this rabbit escapade behind us. All told, my dog has killed at least three baby rabbits that we’re aware of this summer, and in all honesty, there could be more. He’s like a serial killer for rabbits. All he needs is a windowless dog house, a ski mask, and pre-cut rope, and he’d be featured on Forensic Files. The problem is, especially with beagles, a dog whose sole purpose for existence is to hunt rabbits, is that it’s impossible to get him to stop doing what nature and man have bred him to do, smell out and destroy rabbits. It’s like asking me to stop rooting for the Jets, or eating frosting from the can. It’s in my blood. I know it’s wrong, and that I should stop, but you might as well ask me to stop breathing. You would think rabbits would be aware of the scent of a dog and make their nest somewhere else, but any animal that spends so much time having sex probably isn’t too swift between their freakishly long ears.
The mother rabbit seemed to have a foolproof plan. Then fate played its hand. Rabbits plan, and God laughs. (Hoffman Collection)
My wife and I both felt bad about what transpired. Rabbits have been an important part of America’s cultural landscape for a long time. Who didn’t love Bugs Bunny, that wisecracking hare from the Bronx. How about Roger Rabbit? His silliness has made him universally loved. What about that rabbit from Winnie the Pooh? Speaking of which, was that rabbit a male or a female. It might have been a lesbian now that I think about it. Perhaps it was “questioning.” You see, rabbits are trailblazers when it comes to social behavior. Think about all of the rabbits who have perished just to prove that somebody is pregnant. We should have more respect for this species. At any rate, I’m hopeful that the rest of the summer will be devoid of any other clashes in my yard between the hunter and the hunted. In fact, I’m buying a rabbit’s foot for good luck just in case.