Death At My House.

Nobody you’ve read about before by name, it was just one of Mrs. Bunny’s kids. But it was sad to watch. Let me introduce the late Baby Bunny.

So near, and yet so far... (Nest is to the left about a foot from this little one.)

So near, and yet so far… (Nest is to the left about a foot from this little one.)

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Our neighborhood has more rabbits than the enchanted forest. The Velveteen Rabbit won’t come around due to the competition. Even the dogs are nervous: if the rabbits ever organized it’d be a matter of numbers and time.

This past year we’ve seen more than the usual number of the floppy eared louts hanging about. This spring, when the snow melted, my yard appeared to be a storage bin for brown jelly beans. Honestly, the volume of rabbit poop far exceeded Sheltie droppings. I knew it would be a long summer and elected not to put in a garden. I play the numbers as well.

We have a saying around the house, coined by my old boy (rest his furry little soul) Edzell: Bunnies are crunchy.

Bunnies are crunchy.

Bunnies are crunchy.


Once upon a time, Ed found a nest of rabbits in the back yard. (They aren’t know as “dumb bunnies” for nothing.) Ed thought that was magnificent! A dirt bowl full of snacks. He enjoyed them all and then strutted around covered in the remains like a zombie who’d just found an unattended daycare center.

But I digress.

Saturday I found baby bunny outside the nest adjacent to my back wall. Not moving much, but that’s how nature sorts this kind of thing out. I’d seen it before, and figured the mom moved him out for her own reasons. I checked on him throughout the day- he never tried to get back in the nest.

Late in the afternoon mamma bunny was watching the spot where I’d last seen him from about ten feet away. I walked over and she didn’t even move. Just stared. In the middle of the rhubarb patch her child was as stiff as a board. Not just pining for the fjords, but very much dead.

I looked back at her: she was still watching. I doffed my hat and said a prayer for her and her child. I don’t like what the rabbits do to my garden, but it seemed appropriate.

I went to the garage and grabbed a shovel. Gently scooping up her baby, I took him to the yard next door where there is a perfect spot for such things. My neighbor’s house is abandoned, and in the back yard there is a large patch of wild flowers growing over the stump of an enormous oak tree. Gotta be ten feet across and mushy soft as it decomposes.

Mamma followed me into the yard and stood nearby as I buried her little one. For the next 24 hours she stayed within ten feet of his grave and kept a silent vigil. She’s gone now, off to do rabbit stuff. Her child has a beautifully decorated grave.

Mourning?

Mourning?

It makes me wonder: How much do animals think about things for which we never give them credit? I began to suspect a long time ago that they don’t “live in the moment” but until recently the depths of their intellectual world escaped me. I know the dogs I’ve lived with remembered things from years before, and anticipated things they knew were going to happen in the future. But rabbits?

God numbers the hairs on our heads and is concerned with sparrows. Saturday, I suspect He welcomed a small rabbit to His Kingdom. His mother will join him soon in relative years. But will his death trouble her beyond that 24 hours?

I’ll have to wait until I meet my creator to ask that question.

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