So, a few months ago, Foxie Doxie found a bunny nest in the backyard. From said nest, he extracted the coolest, most funnest squeaky toy evah.
And I was the meanest mommy ever, because I chased Foxie Doxie around the backyard, swatting him with a J. Jill catalogue and screaming, “DROP it! Drop IT!”
He finally complied and the little bunny ran off to start what was sure to be years and years of counseling.
Everybody lived happily ever after. Until today.
We slept in freakishly late, and then the boys loitered in the backyard. Geriatric Poodle finally came in, and he and I watched half an hour of While You Were Sleeping (Dear TBS: Thank you for all the shitty movies you play on weekends. Seriously. Thank you.). Finally, I decided to investigate Foxie Doxie’s doings in the yard.
My opening the storm door spooked the now adolescent bunny, and started a horrifying chain of events. The bunny had been hiding under the deck, and when he got spooked, he ran back into the yard. Foxie Doxie then chased him back to the deck, and then the bunny ran towards the neighbor’s yard, only to be greeted by their beagles.
And I stood on my deck in my pajamas (I just had dental surgery: who are you to judge?) and screamed at Foxie Doxie. And he ignored me. Because I am an effective parent.
Finally, Foxie Doxie chased the bunny under the deck. Note that my deck is approximately one foot off the ground, and there’s tacky little fencing all around it to prevent such Foxie Doxie entry.
The dog finally came out from under the deck, and I grabbed his punk ass carcass and threw him in his kennel. He was just dirty – no bunny parts in his mouth or anything. I figured the bunny would now need to step up his counseling and that in-patient care would probably be a good idea.
Tonight, I figured I should double check to make sure that there wasn’t anything under the deck. I grabbed a flashlight and stepped into the backyard to find the mama bunny standing next to the deck.
There’s a bunny carcass under the deck, rotting away right under my back door. You know, right next to the grieving mama.
Fuck. And could the mama break my heart just a little bit more?
I need to pry some of the tacky fencing off the deck, crawl around on my belly with a rake and fish the body out. And then, what am I supposed to do with a dead bunny? Is this an acceptable item for the trash? Won’t it make my garage smell? Trash day is on Friday, which is about 17 years from now.
When I got a dog, I so didn’t sign up for this. Same with when I got a house. Same for being a grown-up. Dude, I am just here for the beer. I don’t do dead bunny removal.
And how am I supposed to let this super affectionate, 12-pound dog lick my face and sleep on my pillow? Granted, I gave him a bath to end all baths, but Foxie Doxie is a cold, hard killer. He killed someone. And that isn’t cool. First it’s a bunny, then it’s a Girl Scout. I could be next.