Peter Rabbit

We have three rabbits that reside with the chickens in our coop in the backyard.  They all eat the same food, drink the same water, and generally get along very well.  Two of the rabbits are of that rather large variety that looks like they weigh about 35 pounds, and as far as I know, probably do.  Fortunately, they are both male, so have not had any babies.  They can fight like crazy from time to time, but generally get along fine.   The third rabbit is much smaller in stature, and at this point I am thinking is a male as well.  We don’t have any baby rabbits yet, and they have all been living together since Easter.  If rabbit reproduction is true, then my expectations were either way too high, or they don’t live up to the hype.

From time to time they escape the confines of the coop when the kids go in to feed and water “the ladies”.  Once they are out, they are generally out for a while.  They are hard to catch and fast as lightening. 

I generally don’t mind if they are out at a time of year when there are no working gardens.  In fact, the longer they are out the better if you ask me.  I spend less money on food, and since rabbits don’t add much to the Stribling household, I am waiting on a fortunate coyote to come by and have a free meal.  It would be even more exciting if we were all around to watch nature take its course. 

Peter, the big black rabbit, likes to hang out a few doors down the street in Janet Chapman’s backyard.  She feeds him on a regular basis, and Peter seems to have become a part of their family.  I like that as it is one less animal for me to take care of.  But, when spring gardens have been planted, any loose pets that are vegetarian by nature all of a sudden become Public Enemy #1.  Peter is no exception.

He got out the other day when I entered the coop to bury Spotty.  He slid right past my foot so fast I couldn’t turn around and get him.  I instantly knew I was in trouble.  His favorite place to go is our garden.  We like our fresh vegetables, and we have a bounty on squirrels to protect them, so I was not pleased that Peter had made it through the gauntlet.

Three days later, I arrived home after a long day in the office only to see that not only was Peter sitting in the midst of my garden like he owned it, but he had also eaten two brussel sprouts and topped all of my pepper plants.  I was mad, and knew instinctively that something must be done.  Farmers have been dealing with varmints since the dawn of cultivation, and the solution has always the same- eradicate the varmint.  As I am a gentleman farmer, I had eradication in mind.

The first thing I did was tell my neighbor my issue.  Said neighbor, who will go unnamed at this point, took me seriously.  And please, keep in mind that I was pretty hot at the time.  Peter had just had his way with my garden, and I was none too pleased.

Me- “If you see Peter running around anywhere, shoot him in the butt.  Then throw him in a crock pot and eat him for all I care.  That thing was in my garden, and I need to catch him.”

Neighbor- “No problem.  If I see him, I will let you know.”

This neighbor has a great garden, and a strong desire to eat organic and eat whatever he can get his hands on.  He unwittingly adheres to the Paleo-diet where if you can grow it, catch it, or kill it, you can eat it.  I just did not know he was going to take my tongue and cheek comment so seriously.  I guess I was serious, I just didn’t think he would take me up on it.

Two days later, we got a call from across the street thanking us for dinner.

Neighbor- “Hey dude.  I just wanted to thank you for probably the most delicious dinner we have ever had.  I saw Peter, killed him, and threw in the crock-pot all day.  There is not a drop left.”

Me- Silence.

Neighbor- “You there?  That was okay wasn’t it?  I mean, you did tell me to shoot it right?”

Me- “Uh, ya.  I guess so.  Do you really eat it?

Neighbor- “Ya!  It was awesome.  My son was literally licking the bowl.  Thanks man!”

That was it.  He did tell me that Peter was no frier.  He was a big rabbit, and easily fed a family of five.

I have to tell you I was a little peeved.  If anyone should have eaten Peter, it should have been me and my family!  I have been feeding that damn thing for two years now and have nothing to show for it but a fatter neighbor.  Now, I don’t know if the LW would have eaten it, as she has a rather refined constitution.  But the kids would have and I would have been a member of the Clean Plate Club.   

I gave the LW a brief rundown of the conversation after the kids left the room and had grown tired of asking my why I was so pale and quiet.  We agreed not to tell the kids that story until they have children of their own. 

That kind of thing does not generally happen in our neck of the woods.  I have had a hard time looking our neighbor in the eye ever since.

Moral of the story- be careful what kind of freedom you give your crunchy neighbors with your pets.  You never know how seriously they will take you. 

A Death in the Family

The Stribling family recently suffered the loss of a beloved family pet.  As most families can attest, this is a sad occasion.  It is often associated with a large production of some sort of burial, mingled with copious amounts of children’s tears.  I remember when one of my dog’s died when I was a child.  We dug a hole in the ground about 4 feet deep and laid poor Captain to rest in his favorite blanket.  It was a sad day for all.

That is reason number 19 why the Stribling Clan of the new millennium does not have a dog.  I will let you know the other reasons on a need to know basis only.  I like dogs more than just about anyone you know, but for the time being, four kids are enough for me, thank you very much.  The last thing I need is another member of the family to worry about or feed.  I know there are great benefits to owning a dog at our stage of life.  It can scare off varmints, get the paper and my slippers, and clean up under the table after dinner.  Our kids spill enough food to feed an entire Vietnamese village, so I wouldn’t have to spend a lot of money on dog food.  But I digress.  That is a discussion for another day.

The pet, in this circumstance, was a chicken named Spotty.  This is yet another reason why a chicken is a superior pet to most animals on the pet market.  They are low commitment, require little maintenance, give back (unlike most pets), provide compost for a rocking garden, you can eat them if times get tough and not feel guilty, AND, if they die- big deal.  It’s a chicken.  So please, don’t cry for my loss.  I have already moved on.

But, let me tell you how the day unfolded.  I got home from work one day to find Strib and Win running around the backyard playing soccer.  Very fun.  We had a brief interchange before I walked into the house to talk to the LW.

Strib- “Hey Dad.”

Me- “Hey buddy.  How’s it going?”

Strib- “Pretty good.  Spotty died.”

Win- (In a very excited and loud voice) “Ya Dad!  Spotty died!”   (Win did not seem the least bit sad.)

Me- “Huh?”

Strib- “Ya, she died.  Go look at her.  She is laying right inside the door of the coop there.”

Win- (Still in his outdoor voice) “Ya Dad!  Let me show you!”

Win then excitedly runs me to the coop, throws open the door, and points to the dead chicken on the floor.  Sure enough, Spotty is dead as a hammer. 

I then, under the cloak of darkness, scooped up her lifeless body and gave her a rather unceremonious burial before the kids could ask for a big to-do.  I know it sounds terrible, but we had miles to go before we slept, it a chicken burial just did not fit into the plan.

Despite the picture of a cold and heartless family that I have painted, don’t you go calling all your left wing democrat friends and send PETA over to investigate the death of our chicken.  We loved Spotty as much as one can love a chicken that is not fried.  She was the last of the four original chickens we got more than 5 years ago.  I have no idea if she was still producing eggs or not, but she had been around for a long time, and frankly had earned her keep.  She had survived more than one raccoon attack (The raccoons did not.  Hehehe), survived a hawk attack right in front of me (awesome, by the way), and survived an attack by the neighbor’s labrador.  She was a tough old bird, and seemingly had 9 lives. 

And, she was also a fun pet to have around.  I took her to school more than once to teach nature studies to my kid’s classes.  It generally worked out great until I couldn’t get her back into the cage one time and she started walking around the classroom like she owned it.  Then, much to the children’s delight, and my chagrin, she hopped up on their desks and started walking around.  That’s when it went south real quick.   She took a huge poop on Liam’s notebook.  Poor kid.  I would have felt bad if the whole class hadn’t been laughing so hard, including Liam.   

Yes, poor Spotty will be missed, and I am confident that she is in a huge pearl encased coop in a far better place right now.  I can see her already, hopping around with Fire, Stripey, and Cloudy (the other original chickens, and yes, all named by my children) as she digs up the juiciest worms she has ever enjoyed.  Good-bye old girl.  You will be missed.