Sunday, August 16, 2009

The Silence Of The Rabbit

Farmer H had another brilliant idea yesterday. He decided to put the male rabbit in a pen instead of leaving him in his cage with the chicken-wire bottom. Farmer H thought it would be more humane, and he commenced to building a little pen with the help of his two sons. A pen. Like, with a dirt floor kind of pen, a pen similar to the chicken pen. I suppose Farmer H doesn't know that rabbits live in burrows. Maybe he never read Alice In Wonderland. Farmer H surely knows that rabbits have claws. His arms were gouged several months ago by that pretty little white buck with black ears and black spots, gouged because he dared to hold a rabbit and pet it while three bloodthirsty dogs jumped up to get a good whiff. Three bloodthirsty dogs who kill and eat approximately one wild rabbit every two weeks. Those claws ain't for show. Nor or they for self-defense. Those are tunnel-diggin' claws.

Farmer H placed the buck in his new rabbit run last night. Today at noon, The Pony reported that Buck had dug himself a burrow that went out under the bricks with which they had lined the bottom of the fence. At the moment his Stalag 17 escape route was discovered, Buck was not shuffling about his compound, releasing dark dirt onto the light dirt and kicking it about with his combat boots. No, Buck was relaxing in his tunnel, enjoying a respite from the 90-degree heat. The Pony, a quick thinker, jammed a dead branch into the outer opening of Buck's tunnel. Poor Pony. He apparently has Farmer H's animal-behavior-blindness genes. Buck's giant buck teeth ain't for daintily nibbling on carrots.

I dialed Farmer H's number and handed the phone to The Pony. Farmer H did not grasp the gravity of the situation. His course of action was no action. Upon learning of his new rabbit housing complex, I had tried to tell Farmer H that nobody keeps their rabbits in a pen like that, and there must be a good reason, probably because the rabbits will dig their way under the fence. Farmer H was having none of it. So less than 24 hours later, his bunny had proven me right. Farmer H hates it when that happens. And to make a point, he left Buck in that non-holding pen tonight.

I am OH SO TIRED of Farmer H's animals being slaughtered for no reason. The black pants rooster got out again twice today, but The Pony herded him back through the gate while two dogs watched from their stations near the pen.

My crystal ball says no good will come of this least restrictive environment idea.


Stewed Hamm said...

Perhaps there's a Little Golden Book that explains rudimentary animal behavior. Those menfolk could use some edumacating.

Hillbilly Mom said...

You could pen such a common-sense tome. Then Literature-Lover H could refer to you as 'Betty, the famous author who just died.' Of course you know that it doesn't mean your name is Betty, or that you were even an author, and that there is a 50-year window for the term 'just died.'