Last week I heard the phrase “rabbits are a**holes” come from my sweet husband’s lips. Really? When did we arrive at this point?
I guess it all started with a little thing we like to call a garden. Two years ago we had a garden and the production was less than stellar. This year Jason has been working very hard on creating a space that plants will want to come and hang out a bit. Where they will invite their friends and have a plant party and reproduce (yeah…like one of those parties in the 1970’s I’ve heard about). Instead, it turns out, something other than plants is having a party in our garden. The bunnies have moved in and they are throwing one heck of a rager. They sent out the evite, waited for the cloak of darkness, and made their move. I am surprised that we didn’t find tiny beer cans and condom wrappers next to the gnawed off lettuce. Or a little Lindsay Lohen bunny passed out next to the peas. Those bunnies know how to whoop it up and in turn our garden was rapidly becoming their own personal above ground rave.
However, the operative word here is WAS. Jason shall not be defeated, especially by something so small and cute and furry and defenseless. He has erected a four foot fence in order to keep the little party animals out. The first night, however, security had been breached. They found a hole and the next morning we found our bean plants missing. Dumb bunnies (us, not them). Now the fence has been buried and the holes have been patched. If those bunnies think they are going to get a free meal off us they have another thing coming. We will take back the night and we shall be victorious. Yes the spoils will be ours. Ours I say.
And mark my words when I say that never again, in this house, will a rabbit be refered to as an a**hole. Unless, of course, we are talking about the time I got bit by the neighbor’s pet rabbit and it drew blood. Or the time our cat brought a baby bunny in through the cat door and it pooped all over the trim board in our playroom. Or the time I applied to be one of Hef’s bunnies and didn’t get picked. But I digress…that’s a whole ‘nother story for a whole ‘nother time.
-Stacey is a mom of two and a wife of one who likes her family (good thing), traveling, reading celebrity gossip (I’m not ashamed), and cooking. You can read more about her and the crew at her blog Oh Happy Days.