R.I.P. Bunny

The circle of life continues its ugly loop. I have no good updates to post, as today was a traumatic day in suburbia. A few days ago, Scott came in and informed me that he found a bunny carcass. Or half a bunny carcass. Then today, while I was on a conference call in my room, I heard a HORRIBLE scream and I just knew in my gut it was a bunny attack. I’m trying to review my week with my boss and meanwhile as I look out the window, I see a black and white cat with a screeching baby bunny in its mouth. I’m trying not to scream and frantically trying to open and close the window and snap my fingers in the hopes that maybe my ridiculously futile attempts at getting the cat’s attention will momentarily allow the baby bunny to run.

No luck. I think the cat gave me the finger. Flipped me some fur? I don’t know, it looked at me like an evil little monster and ran off with the twitching bunny.

I was so traumatized even Cous Cous stopped her morning destruction and came and sat and put her head in my lap. A friend of mine gave me the phone number for a wildlife rehabilitation place and I called. They said if we felt the bunnies were orphaned (and really, what mommy bunny would send her baby out as bait?) then they would take them, but we would have to bring the bunnies to the rehab center an hour or so away.

I went out to try to find the remaining bunnies, assuming there were any. We can’t find them anywhere! We tried watering and digging a little, and nothing! So either they burrowed down really far, or got smart and moved their little bunny hut. Scott says I am going to have to accept that this is how it goes and for every bunny carcass, there’s another litter of bunnies being born elsewhere. I’m not mollified.

Run, Bunny, Run!

This is one of those days where living in suburbia is not all it cracked up to be. A friend of mine was helping me get my garden in shape. I’ve tried so many times since we moved in to make the garden SOMETHING, but I always get overwhelmed and quit. So my friend has stepped in and offered to help.

So as I was starting dinner tonight, she comes running in all shuddering. She said she had dug into a hosta to split it, and out came a bunch of mice. She didn’t know how many; she stopped counting after two and came running in. So we did what any girls would do: we made Scott go out and see what’s going on. He asked if we wanted to kill the mice and we debated. Finally we decided that we should try to move them or something to get them away from the house so they wouldn’t get in.

So Scott and my friend go out and she comes in giggling. Turns out it’s not mice! It’s baby bunnies. I get all excited and screechy until I realize she’s injured one and the others are wiggling around all nutty in the dirt. My friend says they can’t stay in the garden b/c they’re killing the plants. So, Scott takes them and moves them to a nearby pine tree. Which causes me to burst into tears because I’m positive their mommy is NEVER going to find them.

I know all this is irrational and borderline absurd. Rabbits are a dime a dozen out here and Scott only moved them 20 feet away, but I kept crying “they’ll never see their mommy!"

So, Scott finally went over a few hours later and made sure they were still there. They were, including the one who was injured who Scott keeps saying may bounce back. My adorable husband even brought them a t-shirt and some food.

And now we wait, I guess. Scott is convinced the mommy bunny will find the babies because she eats from planters all around our house, and he’s convinced I’ll be cursing the bunnies in no time. Here’s hoping!

Tupper-WHERE?

About a month after I moved in, I started getting strange, random invitations to various home sales parties. The postcards came rolling in for environmentally friendly cleaning products, candle parties, bath and body stuff. And I had no idea who was sending them to me because the address was for a house I didn’t see on our block and I didn’t recognize the name. I tossed them aside, assuming it was someone we’d run in to on our walks and they wouldn’t be offended.

So about a month ago, I got a knock on the door from a neighbor’s daughter, who hands Scott a piece of paper and takes off. Scott was already giggling when he walked up the stairs, so I was immediately concerned.

It turns out my neighbor was having one of those entertaining at home parties, where they sell cookware. The weirded out city girl in me was tempted to write it off the way I had the others: only in this case I actually knew the invitee, and she’d sent a rather cute emissary. Plus, the neighbor in question actually works in a test kitchen and I was actually dying to see her kitchen and some of the stuff she had bought. So I RSVPd and braced myself for my first neighborhood home sales party.

Let me just say, this wasn’t your Donna Reed type of party, sipping mint juleps and perusing piles of over-priced merchandise. There was booze, sure, and the cooking items were certainly more expensive than your average Amazon purchase. But instead of a room full of women in hoop skirts and hosiery, this was a room full of single women in their late 30s.

I learned some interesting facts about my neighbors as the liquor flowed: their divorce stories, odd child-rearing topics (I’m still baffled on how my neighbor is pregnant again when the two kids she has sleep with her every night, leaving hubby out on the couch), and their participation or interest in participating in more adult-themed home sales parties.

The saleswoman was actually one of the group, and about 10 minutes into her speech and 1,200 “shhhh, seriously guys!” she gave up, handed out the catalogue, and poured more wine. And I must say, I thought that was the most genius sales pitch EVER! I have $50 of merchandise coming to me that proves it.