Battle of the bunnies
by Deb Mercier / January 12, 2009

According to the University of Minnesota Extension service, “Cottontail rabbits have adapted to the presence of humans so successfully that they're common in city and country alike.”

Translated, that means they're everywhere. Seriously everywhere -- like an old Twilight Zone episode. Looking out in the yard under the pines, you see a writhing mass of bunniedom, all gray fur and twitching noses just waiting to pop out of the shadows. You feel eyes on your back: it's bunnies staring through the patio door. Car's not running right: bunnies under the hood. Open the cereal box: bunnies come pouring onto the table.

Don't get me wrong – I still like bunnies. They're cute and fluffy and eat their own poop. What's not to like? But crowds of any form give me the heebie-jeebies, especially ones that strip the bark off my trees like efficient, furry piranhas.

Back in her leaping-Frisbee days, Koko the Chesapeake kept the rabbits at bay, chasing the voracious little fluffballs with the same enthusiasm she showed for playing fetch with a waterlogged branch. The Frisbees she always caught; the branches she always dragged back; the bunnies... not so much. But she had a good time clearing the yard.

Now, at 16 and counting, Koko mostly hangs out in a patch of sun, maybe opening an eye when the rabbits run past her nose. Maybe. If she's feeling up to it. Keep in mind this is the dog that didn't even rate the neighbor's horses “worth it” when they paid a surprise visit to the yard. To give her credit, as the horses ambled past snacking on the grass, Koko did look up briefly as if to say, “Hey. How ya doin'?” before dozing off again.

Newton the wonder Bichon showed some preliminary promise for rabbit-clearing skills. However, my faith in his abilities waned somewhat the other day. There was a rabbit sitting on our deck, peeking in the patio door. I called Newton over to “come see the bunny!” He and the rabbit sat nose-to-nose, separated by glass. Newton whuffed a bit, at least pretending to be tough. The bunny twitched an ear. I slid the door open and the two adversaries stared at each other for a moment.

Newton made the first move, testing the snow to make sure it wasn't too cold; by the time that thought chugged through the proper channels, the rabbit had long since streaked down the steps and bolted under the pines. Newton stood on the deck, wagging his tail, looking back at me as if to say, “I like bunnies!”

Bunnies 1, Bichon 0, Trees -4. (As in, we're minus two apple trees, a flowering something or other and a bush we were trying to kill off anyway.) We'll see how everything pans out in the spring. All I know is, there's going to be some serious fence-age going on once the ground thaws in, say, July. The battle of the bunnies has begun.

© 2009 Deborah Mercier