End of the Bunny Trail

Thankfully, this incident happened well after Easter.

Yesterday, when I stopped by to let the dogs out at lunch, I noticed a very large....thing...in the grass.  It was definitely made of fur and it was most decidedly missing tufts of fur, as said fur tufts were fluffing about in the air.  I inched closer to see what furry creature had found its way onto our law, creeping all the way just in case the thing was not dead.  I thought it was a bunny but thought it too big to be a bunny.  I considered that it was a really little coyote, as it had coyote color fur.  It wasn't a bird as there were no feathers involved.  It didn't look like a raccoon, possum or neighborhood cat.  It's then I saw the ears.

Bunny.  Definitely a bunny.  "Okay," I muttered to myself, "I can handle a dead bunny."

I peered at the poor thing.  "Huh.  I didn't know bunnies were that big."  It was big. Like dog size big. Like bionic bunny big.

I crept closer.  Now, I don't want or need to get too graphic here, so suffice it to say (1) it was dead; (2) it hadn't been dead a long time; (3) it did not have a pleasant death; (4) something didn't get to enjoy its whole lunch because there was still a lot to be had with this dead bunny.  It was a very handsome bunny, all legs and cotton tail in tact.  May I just say that its eyes were wide open and that it had cute little bunny teeth?  (I got pretty close for my inspection.)  It had a look on its face that suggested an unpleasant ending.

I knew I couldn't leave the bunny in its current place of rest, as our dogs would want part of the tasty treat and I know the neighbor dog would be all over it (literally--it's a hunting dog with a taste for critters of all kinds).  Thing is, I'm not exactly good at removing dead things from the yard.  I had to talk myself through this.

I stood in the yard and contemplated my options aloud. "Okay, it's dead.  I'm sure it's dead.  It's dead, isn't it? Heck, I can't touch that.  What the hell IS that, anyways? Boy, this must have been a hawk.  I'm sorry, Mr. Bunny.  How the hell am I gonna remove you from the lawn? I can't bury you.  You're too big. I can't put you in the garbage.  We'll have every wild animal in the neighborhood stalking our garage.  What to do. What to do......"

Being the creative art major that I am, I employed (1) a shovel; (2) a "pee-pee pad;" (3) gloves; (4) several large garbage bags; and (5) a permanent marker.  A pee pee pad is one of those absorbent things that you put in a hospital bed or on a chair for those who might "leak" or pee in the night (or wherever whenever). It's got the blue plastic backing and the cottony soft front.  I figured this was the perfect solution, as I could roll the bunny onto the pad, fold the half of the pad over the bunny, drag the pad into the garbage bag.

I laid the pee pee pad near the back of the bunny (the icky part I really didn't want to see--the part that gave me an idea a hawk had been involved in the ordeal) and planned on rolling the bunny toward the pad.  Of course, the wind kept blowing my pee pee pad away and so I had to figure out how I could stand on one corner of the pee pee pad while rolling the dead rabbit onto the pad.

I looked like I was playing a game of Twister, only without the dots.  "Right foot, pee pee pad."  "Left hand, shovel."

This is when I learned how much bunnies weigh.  Boy, this guy was heavier than a bowling ball and I'm not kidding.  I kept thinking how Mr. Bunny weighed as much as our dogs.  Who knew bunnies were so big? They don't look so big when hopping around on our lawn.

It's also when I learned that this guy was "fresh" and still limp.  He wasn't rolling for nothing.  He was fighting back.  His middle would roll but his feet stayed behind.  His feet and back rolled but his head flopped onto the grass.  I couldn't get all the parts to coordinate.

Needless to say, I finally got him on the pee pee pad and flopped half over Mr. Bunny.  I again started talking aloud, as I needed some encouragement to do the next task: DRAG.THE.BUNNY.

Oh, my I did not enjoy dragging that bunny.  The wind made it harder, as my garbage bag was whipping all over the place. I didn't want him to fall off the pee pee pad but I had to move him to get him into the bag.

It took a lot of work to get that damn bunny into the bag.  

Once in the bag, I put him in another bag.  Double bagging seemed important.  I thought about triple bagging, but that seemed a bit much.

I then did something that most people probably wouldn't have done: I wrote "DEAD BUNNY" on both sides of the bag.  Hey, I didn't want anyone thinking there was something fun in the bag.

I texted the wife and sent her some photos--none graphic, of course.  After asking me "are you sure it's not a coyote?" she texted me she'd call the county and have them remove the bunny from our property.  When she asked where he'd be, so she could tell the county guy, I assured her "He's under the pine tree, in a white garbage bag labeled DEAD BUNNY."

No missing that.

I'm glad to report that the dead bunny bag was gone by bed time.  Either the county guy came along and got our "road kill" or someone got a big surprise....

.....hopefully not a seven year old looking for Peter Cotton Tail.