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Friday, June 26, 2015

Getting on with my bad self. Oh, yeah.

Back when I was a girl, eons ago, I was so thin-skinned and tender-hearted (as most young girls are), that I would weep copiously at the drop of a hat.  Our poor father accidentally ran over a rabbit with the car, and I was inconsolable, accusing him of murder and carrying on like a lunatic.  I found a rabbit in the winter that had been hit by a car and carried it home, weeping crocodile tears.  My mother, bless her, sighed and let me put it in a cardboard box.  Then we called our Uncle Jim, her brother the Vet.  Good-natured fellow that he was and is, he came to see what he could do.  He put iodine on a big gash on its haunch which caused the erstwhile prone rabbit to rocket up and out of the box.  And through the house.  I raised a shoebox of orphaned field mice under my bed.  They apparently thrived, as I came home from school one afternoon to discover they'd left the box.  I spent a very fretful month or so, looking for them out of the corner of my eye.

Flash forward to the past three or so years.  Most of my 'tenderness' has been toughened up.  Living through the Year of the Rats, the Year of the Chipmunks, and the Year of the Squirrels has turned my skin to Kevlar and my heart as tough as my neighbor's cooked pork chops.  Oh, yeah.

Last night, getting home from my entertaining commute home, I dropped purse and bag, let Pepper out of lock down, and let the dogs out.  As I stood on the deck, surveying my kingdom (and wondering why the dang Nuggets won't go outside), I saw Lovey paying a great deal of attention to my herb garden.  I looked down and there, nestled in a little wad of furriness, were five very young bunnies.  Ack.  I got Lovey side-tracked (NEVER be without a crunchy bit in your pockets.  Never.) and got the other two oblivious pups on the deck, then hustled them all in the house.  The bunnies' eyes were open - they were half-pint sized - but they obviously had either been led and left by mom, or ventured out on their own and were adrift.  After weighing the consequences (garden - saving bunnies), my heart lurched in the latter direction and I did the Bob-and-Duck in the bed, scooping them up one by one and putting them under the deck.

Cursing at my folly, I did the rest of my chores and then, saving the best for last (dripping sarcasm, here), I went out to feed and water the Nuggets.  Where I discovered that one had been on the receiving end of some vicious feather-pulling.  Its wing was a nasty, bloody mess.  Dang again.  I trotted up to the house, got the first aid kit (hydrogen peroxide, Wound-Kote, swabs, towels, sterile wipes) and trotted back.  Hefting the thing, we went outside in the grass, I got it in a half-Nelson, and spent a great deal of time cleaning and dressing the wound.  Then proceeded to cover both of us in bright purple Wound-Kote.

When I finished, I went inside and rewarded myself accordingly.  With a handful of gingerbread marshmallows.

18 comments:

  1. I just wish there was someone on your homestead who could take pictures of all your goings-on. The documentation would be worth its weight in gold. :o]

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    1. Mama Pea - Reality TV at it's best

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    1. Nancy - It's always something, isn't it?

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  3. I remember coming home from work one time to find my oldest daughter pleading with our tomcat "to just finish him off, PLEASE!!!!" while holding a garden spade over a tiny little field mouse that was obviously breathing his last after the tomcat had his way. She so didnt want to have to put that tiny mouse out of its misery, but knew if the cat didnt finish his job, she needed to do the humane thing. Sometimes we need to know when to let nature take its course, and when we need to step in to do the humane thing. Sounds like you have a good grasp on whats what !!!

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    1. Janice - There are times when I know it's better NOT to intervene, but I can't help myself. Your daughter is awesome... :)

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  4. Never a dull moment. I agree with Mama Pea, the pictures of your goings on would be priceless.

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    1. DFW - I wonder if I could convince Meryl Streep to play me... :)

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  5. gingerbread marshmallows? i am fascinated?

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    1. Jaz - I know! I found them around December (and they are hardly stale...) but I would love to make my own because these are not gingery enough.

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  6. Susan,

    I take it you never found the mice? Do you think your parents caught on about the mice and disposed of them? I've never heard of gingerbread marshmallows, is this something your bought or made?
    Those little bunnies are so adorable when small. Last years bunnies (3) have disappeared, they haven't returned. :-(

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    1. Sandy - No, I never saw them. And there were eight of them, so I was surprised. I found the marshmallows around Christmas time - they are cut in little gingerbread men shapes. And good!

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  7. Ahh baby bunnies....such are the travails of the tender soul! My mother would fret over baby jack rabbits...they are such gangling things...the one of her rescues ate all the lettuce and most of the swiss chard!

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    1. Fiona - I am hoping I don't regret my decision, but there it is.

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  8. We are sisters from a different mister. I am a sucker for animals of all types. When a human gives me a sob story I have to stop and think if it's true or not. But when an animal needs me, I'm all theirs. I would have saved those dang adorable garden munchers, too. Sigh...

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    1. CM - I love that expression! If it's anything baby animal, I'm a puddle. However, I do draw the line on garden invaders.

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  9. Stupid cute bunnies. It's all part of their evolutionary ploy to take over our gardens. They're so stinking cute when they are little that we go against our gut instincts to immediately dispatch them and instead nurse them back to health or don't kill them, then curse them when they are eating our broccoli and kale.

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    1. Carolyn - Exactly! Stupid cute bunnies. Speaking of which, how is your stupid cute bunny...?

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