I heard the customary scratch on the front door tonight and when I went to let him in, Owen hustled off the front porch and out into the yard. At first, I thought he was after a bone, because sometimes he hopes I’ll let him bring them inside.
Whatever he had, wasn’t a bone. I then hoped someone had thrown a dog toy over the back gate, but no, what he had, was the back end of a bunny.
When we’re up at the cabin, Owen and Raymond are obsessed in that way that only bird dogs can be, about chasing bunnies. The door opens and they rocket out, yipping a little, filled with hope that this time, this time they’re going to catch the Garbage Can Bunny (who lives under the pallet upon which the garbage cans rest). Or perhaps the Motel Bunny who lives behind the 2-unit motel cabin. Or maybe, just maybe, the Bunny Under the Big Bush by the ditch.
They have never caught any of these bunnies. These bunnies live in the wild. These bunnies keep their eyes out.
In town, the alley behind my house has a pretty healthy bunny population. I figure that augers well for the chickens, because any predator that will eat a chicken, will also eat a bunny. Somehow, the dogs must have surprised a Town Bunny out by the shed, because after Owen brought me his prize (he was quite proud of himself) I made him take me in back to find the rest of the bunny (thank goodness for gardening gloves when disposing of such messes). “Hunt it up,” I told him, and off he went.
Alas, it seems the front half of the bunny has disappeared. So tonight, we sleep with the door to the mud room open, so two dogs, who have been known to have rather delicate constitutions, can exit should the front half of the bunny re-assert itself.
While I’m sad for the bunny, who was, from what I can tell, a sweet furry little grey cottontail, I’m sort of thrilled for my obsessed dogs. A bunny! They got one!
The Mighty Hunters.