It’s a rare day in the neighborhood when the hubs figures out one of my schemes. In the first place, I’m not a particularly scheme-y person, and in the second place, who knew he was paying attention? That he was paying attention was brought home to me the night I was off at one of my monthly meetings. I came home after dark to learn that he had already put my pet ducks to bed (normally my job) which, in and of itself, was a good thing. But then he mentioned noticing a pile of duck feed on the ground. Very carefully, so as not to tread too heavily on my delicate feet, he reminded me that feeding the bunny was not a good idea because we didn’t also want to feed the rat.
Ah. The rat. I’d forgotten about the rat.
We knew we had mice in the house. Every three years or so, we’ve had a fellow come out and do whatever he does to make them go away. But the rat was more alarming, if for no other reason than he’s quite a bit larger than our house mice, and considerably more difficult to get rid of. Our mouse man told us why:
“Rats are very intelligent,” he said, “and once they learn something, they remember it. And they’re very suspicious of anything new in their territory.” Meaning, evidently, that that new rat on the block was going to give the rat trap a wide berth. Ultimately, the big fellow did avail himself of the food in the trap, and subsequently, we haven’t seen him in a very long time. Which is why I forgot about him when I was leaving grain out for the bunny.
As your intrepid Critter Lady, it’s my job to care about the animals around me, including that pesky rabbit who helps himself to my flower beds every summer. When I noticed that he was lurking about, I decided that I’d leave him a little snack each evening, given that his normal diet is so much harder to find, this time of year. So after I put the ducks to bed in their pen, I’d take a handful of their feed and toss it on the ground before I brought the bowl inside for the night. I always tossed that handful where I could see it from the house.
In the evening, I’d glance out the glass door and wait for the bunny to find the pile, and I’d watch him eat it while the hubs was engrossed in some Netflix show. It was just a little secret between myself and the bunny. Until the hubs figured out what I was up to.
“I must’ve tripped and spilled some feed,” was my lame excuse. Right: I tripped and spilled every single night for the past three weeks! I thought to myself. I knew the hubs wasn’t buying it, but he’d made his point and chosen not to belabour it, so the subject was dropped. I imagine he thought that was the end of the matter but for one thing: that bunny was going to be hungry all winter long, and I had promised to feed him.
I was in the middle of reading this jolly interesting book called Straight From The Horses Mouth, which was written by a woman who says she can communicate with animals, and claims that we all can do it, too, if we follow the advice given in her book. I haven’t finished the book, yet, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying, and my focus has been the hungry bunny in our garden.
I’ve kept the messages short and sweet: I won’t hurt you. Stay inside the high walls and you’ll be safe. I would send him mental pictures, as per the author’s suggestion, of what happened to bunnies who went out in the road. And I would send him images of the pile of straw behind the duck pen, telling him, if you get cold, you can go behind the duck pen and burrow in the straw. I had no idea whether he was actually receiving my nightly broadcasts, but I kept at it, sending the same messages every time. Curiously, after a couple of weeks of attempting to bombard the poor creature with useful information, I finally got a return on my investment:
Thanks for feeding me, I heard loud and clear in my head one night. Well!
There was, obviously, no way I could stop feeding him now, but I clearly had to find a less conspicuous place to do it. It needed to be near where I’d seen him in the garden, but it had to be somewhere away from the ducks and their pen, where the hubs might wander. I realized that if I waited for the hubs to take the dog for his nightly walk around the neighborhood, I could put the ducks to bed, then toss that handful of feed around the corner of the house – out of sight of my scheme-sensing husband.
It’s worked so far!
Until next time, please be kind to all the critters!
