2005-06-01

Yesterday, I was outside, enjoying some peace, when the Charlie started hopping and jumping around and pawing at the ground. I'm trying (no doubt in vain) to break the dog from digging, which is what she seemed to be doing. So I wandered over there with rolled-up newspaper in hand with the intention of giving the dog a good whack on the rump. (Not enough to hurt her, mind you, just enough to let her know in terms so simple that even a dog could understand that I'm unsatisfied).

When I got over there, I saw a clump of mulched grass pulsating. Like there was something alive underneath it. This inspired no small amount of excitement from the puppy.

(Note to the squeamish: the story gets really violent and nature-show here, so if you don't want to know the rest of the story, skip down to where you see the three stars. And if you're not sure if you want to know or not, you probably don't want to know.)

I didn't know what it was, but I assumed it was vermin of some kind, so I figured I'd let Charlie chase the thing off. Or whatever.

Well, as the dog kept pawing and yapping at the throbbing bit of grass, the curiosity got the better of me, and I started walking over to the scene, when out jumped two tiny baby rabbits, squeaking in terror.

(Note: seriously, you probably don't want to know what happens next.)

Charlie's nose sprang into action, and she quickly tracked down one of them, which she began barking and pawing at.

This was decision time for me. Should I scold the dog? That one was definitely out of the question. Charlie is half Beagle (hunting dog) and half Jack Russell Terrier (also a hunting dog, and I believe they were originally bred for mouse hunting). Thus, every fiber of Charlie's being was crying out to attack this thing. Punishing her would be cruel.

So, I tried to distract her by feeding her a bit early in the day. And that worked... for about five minutes. Then the wheels started spinning in her little noggin: "Man, that was some good food. Wait, what was I doing before dinner? Oh, I remember!"

So, she wandered back over to the hole, which, with her acute dog nose, must have been as conspicuous as if it had been painted florescent orange. And she quickly found one of the baby bunnies, and began playing with it again, barking, pawing, picking it up in its mouth, not to kill it, but just to carry it around.

By this point, the mother rabbit had heard the plaintive cries of her baby and came to check out what all the commotion was about. Rabbits are not going to win any intelligence prizes, so you could see that, while the mental cogs were turning in its head, they weren't turning very quickly.

But something had to be done, so she did the only thing she could do when facing down a carnivore without any defenses of her own other than moxie. It was a fairly shrewd strategy, all things considered: she ran straight at Charlie and then ran in the other direction. The mother was a much larger and more tempting quarry, but also much faster and easily outran the still-clumsy and awkward puppy. I believe the plan was just to lead the dog as far away from the baby as possible, in the hopes that Charlie wouldn't be able to find the baby afterwards.

Shrewd, but in the end futile. The mother rabbit ran under the back fence where Charlie couldn't follow, and Charlie quickly tracked down her new toy.

After what seemed like a lifetime of Charlie running around with it in its mouth, tossing it in the air, barking at it, batting it around with her paws, finally the little guy gave up the fight, and Charlie's puppy teeth managed to poke a hole in the bunny's belly and was enjoying a nice desert of bunny liver.

After watching in horror as my adorable puppy did her impression of Mr. Blonde in Reservoir Dogs, once the thing had expired, I decided, enough fun, got a Schnuck's bag from my bag of bags and, when the puppy had its back turned for a second, I snatched the carcass and disposed of it.

Well, this morning, as per usual, I let the dog outside for her morning restroom break. She seemed to be investigating the scene of yesterday's crime, and, remembering that there were two bunnies, I again tried to distract her with more food. Then I went inside to take a shower. I think I might have heard another plaintive bunny squeak while inside the house, but I tried to ignore it.

(Creepy thought: now that I think about it, the bunny squeak sounds exactly like the squeak in the squeak toy.)

When I came back outside, all dressed and ready for work, and ready to put the puppy in her kennel for the morning, I saw her under the maple tree, snout and feet covered in blood, the top half of a dismembered infant bunny clamped in her front legs.

Yes, only the top half.

(Note: Be honest, here, you probably wish you hadn't read that, don't you?)

This was too much for me, so I grabbed the dog and, holding her about two feet in front of me, I took her inside and placed her in the kennel. The smell of blood was all over her. Then I went outside and disposed of my second carcass in the last 12 hours.

I guess if there's an upside, there was half as much work disposing of this one than the last one. Cold comfort, I assure you.

Anyway, I went inside to leave the house and heard the dog complaining about the injustice of its captivity, and I realized that I hadn't let it do its business after, um, eating. So, I picked her up, and, again holding her out in front of me, took her outside to use the facilities.

Then this afternoon I let the dog out and was cooking myself dinner, when I heard that now-too-familiar squeak. This time I walked outside immediately, and the dog came running excitedly. She ran right into the kitchen and I closed the door behind her. On the patio, I saw a tiny bunny, shaking in terror.

There had been enough murder, so I was going to save this one. So I got a box, and coaxed the bunny into hopping into the box. The two kids next door had come up to the fence to investigate, and I asked if they'd be so kind as to find a place to put the bunny in their yard.

They said that the'd be delighted to.

So, the story ends with a happy-ish ending. The last baby bunny is alive, although I don't know if rabbits are like birds where, if they smell the dog slobber on their young, they'll ignore it. Or if the stupid thing won't wander back to its old hutch, and thus to its certain death and my certain cleanup duty.

But I'd like to think it'll get back together with its mother, and they'll all live happily ever after, although not without having learned a valuable and very costly lesson:

There's a new sheriff in town, and her name is Darth Charlie.

***

I'll leave you all with a joke. Which, if you ignored my multiple warnings and didn't skip down here, you probably need it.

Q: Why can't dogs dance?

A: Because they have two left feet.

[rimshot]