They're Not Called Bunny's Best Friend for a Reason

A few weeks ago, hubby almost mowed over three baby bunnies that were in a nest burrowed into our backyard. He came into the house telling me about his find and that he’d almost taken their lives on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Upon hearing the lawnmower, one of the bunnies jumped out of the hole and made itself known. “Yo, buddy! What the frig? We’re like 5 days old. Cut the freakin’ mower already,” the bunny seemed to say. This bunny was clearly born in NJ.

Hubby reassured me that the bunnies were all fine and we took Monkey Man out into the yard for a real-life lesson in bunnies living in our backyard. Whatever that means. How the hell do you take care of wild bunnies?

We stayed out in the backyard for a while with the bunnies, as the three siblings curled into one another. Even though we had no clue what to do for them, we enjoyed sharing the time with Monkey Man and letting him experience a little piece of nature in sub-plot suburbia. Each time we visited over the next 2 days, we never let our dog, Walt, out with us so that we did not draw his attention to their nest.

On Monday, I arrived home from work to a frantic Monkey Man yelling to me from the backyard. He was in the yard with hubby’s parents and Walt. Hubby’s parents and Walt, all huddled near the nest.

“MOMMMMMMYYYY! Walt’s eating the bunny! He’s got one in his mouth!”

I started screaming at Walt to drop the bunny. No yelling in the world would make Walt drop that poor, sweet rabbit. That bunny was to Walt what the chocolate variety is to me on Easter morning. Ain’t no letting go of the bunny. He practically swallowed him whole. As I stood far away gagging and convulsing (I can’t even see road kill on the street, I begin to shake and I even close my eyes while driving the car) my father-in-law proceeded to tell me in front of Monkey Man that Walt ate all of the bunnies.

Now, Monkey Man was only clued in to the assault and murder of one bunny. I “shushed” my FIL so as to protect Monkey Man from the evil, heinous crimes of his dog. Wasn’t it enough that he already knew that Walt chewed the life out of one? Did he really have to know that the dog was a serial killer and his M.O. was clearly cute, infantile rabbits with velveteen fur?

“Mommy, there are no more bunnies in the nest,” Monkey Man stated matter-of-fact, blue eyes wide waiting for me to give him an explanation.

I delivered. My brilliant reply, so as to protect my child from the harsh realities of life and the cruelty of his wild dog that sleeps in our house, was “The other two hopped away. They got scared and got the hell out of Dodge before Cujo here could enjoy them for dessert.”

Really, Walt. Enough with the life lessons.

“Mommy, There’s Somefin on the Floor!”

I was jolted awake this morning at 6:30 to Monkey Man screaming this to me. Monkey Man has finally figured out that he is no longer a captive prisoner in his bed and now he actually leaves it himself. He obviously got up this morning and made his way downstairs to find quite a surprise. And I knew immediately what Monkey Man was yelling about.

In my 6:30 haze, I remembered our dog, Walt, whining at 3 a.m. He woke me up, but apparently I rolled over and fell back to sleep while Walt decided to problem solve the situation on his own. “Not going to let me out, woman? Well, here’s to a morning of get-down-on-your-hands-and-knees scrubbing and an odor that’ll beat the hell out of any dog fart I’ve ever let loose.” Our ENTIRE house is hardwood floors, except for the family room and that is where our evil dog decided to cast out his bowels. Thankfully, this rug is already disgusting and is on our to-do list to hit the dumpster in the next few months. Looks like it’ll be sooner rather than later.

I couldn’t blame Walt, though. Walt is 4 ½ years-old and hasn’t had an accident in the house since he was being house trained which took all of one week – I’m not kidding you, this dog has been awesome in that department. I let Walt out yesterday at about 6 p.m. He usually goes out for the last time at about 8:30 p.m. I never let him out for his last hurrah. So he reminded me of this and I paid dearly. And while my husband gagged and sat with Monkey Man on his lap while Mommy did a little pre-Mother’s Day cleaning, Monkey Man helpfully pointed and remarked, “You missed a spot.”