Bunnies are NOT Cute

I gasped as I looked out the kitchen window the other morning. "Honey!" I called, "There’s a baby bunny chewing up our $60.00 clematis plants!"

I haven’t seen my husband move that fast since he carried me over the threshold on our wedding night. He was out the door in a flash and three seconds later, he was running a 440-yard dash around the yard, shovel in hand, chasing a baby bunny with a very full stomach. Suddenly, I heard hysterical crying behind me. I turned around.

My daughter sobbed as she stared out the window clutching the stuffed bunny she sleeps with every night. "Daddy is going to kill the bunny with the cute face!" she cried.

I ran my own 440-dash to the patio door. I threw open the door and yelled, "STOP CHASING THE BUNNY! OUR DAUGHTER IS GOING TO CALL People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals!"

My husband stopped in his tracks. "It’s that darn stuffed rabbit again, isn’t it?" he queried.

"I’m sorry," I replied. "It’s her favorite."

He sighed and put the shovel down. The bunny stopped, drew his paw across his brow to wipe the sweat that had accumulated, and then hopped off into my flower garden where he immediately began chewing all the daisies.

I think those rabbits can sniff out the houses in the neighborhood where children sleep with stuffed animals who look just like them. Then, in the early morning hours, they move in and eat every living plant, flower and bush, and intentionally leave all the weeds to grow and flourish for homeowners to try to murder every weekend with a bottle of Roundup so that nothing is left but dirt and dead sticks.

Meanwhile, my husband hovered over the Clematis plants and hollered over his shoulder at me, "Run to the hardware store and get some chicken wire while I stand guard!"

I hopped (pun intended) in my car and sped to the hardware store where I met up with a friendly clerk who showed me to the chicken wire aisle where a large crowd had already formed. "Those rabbits are really active this year so far," he smiled as he snipped three sections of wire for me. I didn’t want to envision what "active" really meant, so instead I imagined a rabbit wearing a sweatband and a Mp3 player working out at the gym.

"This should do her!" he said cheerfully as he rang me up. It was sort of ironic he chose those words since obviously, someone else had "done her" and that’s why I had 50 baby rabbits in my backyard right now.

"Thanks much!" I said as I dashed out the door and headed back home. When I arrived, I noticed my husband lying next to the garden, his hands crossed over his chest, with a peaceful expression on his face. "My God!" I muttered, "The rabbits have overpowered him." As I walked closer, I realized he was sleeping. Meanwhile, two out of the three of the Clematis plants had been chewed to the ground. The bunnies crept away and stood on their hind paws next to me. I swear I saw them smile.

"WAKE UP!" I yelled to my husband who snorted and then stood up.

"I wasn’t sleeping," he remarked. "I was just resting my eyes."

Together, we placed the chicken wire around the chewed up, mangled plants and stood back to survey the garden.

"I always hated that book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland," my husband commented.

"A rabbit-hole can’t be that fun," I added.

My husband held the shovel and pointed at the bunnies who stared at us. "You just wait three more years," he threatened, "No one, and I mean NO ONE will be sleeping with any stuffed animals around here by then!"

"Do you think we scared them?" I questioned.

"Probably not," he sighed as he put the shovel away.

We’re considering wrapping our entire yard in chicken wire next spring.



About Vicky DeCoster

Award-winning humor writer Vicky DeCoster is the author of "From Diapers to Dorkville," "Husbands, Hot Flashes, and All That Hullabaloo!" and "The Wacky World of Womanhood." She has been published in over 60 magazines, books, and on several web sites. Vicky lives in Nebraska with her husband and two children where she loves to laugh every day. Visit her at www.wackywomanhood.com.
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