I had a few other title ideas for this post such as:
“Bunny Decapitation and Other Shovel Stories”
“Lawn Mowers and the Fuzzy Things They Can Run Over”
“In Which Wilbur Tastes the Sweet Sweet Blood of Infant Critters”
That basically sums up what happened. I was in our shed and the hubs was mowing our extremely overgrown grass when I heard him yelp in distress. He had accidentally done something that will send him into the fiery depths of hell. He ran a baby bunny over with the lawnmower. And it was not pretty, mostly because he didn’t kill it (yet), he just seriously injured it. Which meant he had channel his inner Mr. McGregor and take a shovel to baby Peter Rabbit.
After we had an appropriate bunny funeral (by throwing him over the fence) we went searching for any surviving family members and found an entire nest full of fluffy bunny butts (and bodies and heads…no more decapitation, just to be clear)
This is the point where Wilbur, the Doghorse, got really interested. A brave little cottontail made a run for it-which resulted in a fun little game in which I screamed and cried a lot and Nick tried to fish a very frightened rabbit out of Doghorse’s mouth. In order to amend himself in your eyes, I have included a photo of the slobbery rabbit he rescued from the jaws of being swallowed whole. Keep in mind that at this point the two babies left in the burrow had heard one sibling get run over by sharp, circular blades of eternal rest, and the other chased and almost swallowed by a monster.
The only saving grace is that the kids were sleeping through this debacle, which means we were saved the whole gloomy explanation of where bunnies go when they die. (Across the fence to the neighbor’s yard, clearly.)
We stood over the nest and took faith in the church of google to show us our path and guide us through the correct steps to take. One website informed us that even though we didn’t see a mother she was probably nearby watching us- which, considering everything she may have witnessed, I’m sure is going to send her to a highly trained bunny psychologist for the rest of her life.
Apparently the bunnies we had chanced upon in the bloody stand-off were old enough to take care of themselves. In order to assure their new lives started out in the most peaceful manner possible, we put them into a tub for Avelyn to poke, scream over, and assault for an hour or so.
At the end of the night we brought them to a safe bushy area and Avelyn nudged them each to their new (and hopefully much safer) home.
There are a few morals to this story we could end with, so I’ll give you some options and you can pick the one that applies to your life best.
“A sharpened shovel only requires one hack, but the broad underside will smush it flat without having to aim.”
“Yardwork is to only be accomplished while the children sleep-otherwise your massacre explanation will make them weep.”
“If your dog can’t smell a burrow of rabbits in his own backyard it’s probably not a dog. It’s a horse.”