May 6, 201307:38 AMBlaska's Bring It!
with David Blaska
Silence of the rabbits
(page 1 of 2)
Spring has arrived at the Blaska Experimental Work Farm and Penal Colony. The first stalks of asparagus have emerged, the redbud tree is budding, and the first crop of rabbits is weaning.
I should have known Young Mr. Bluster was onto something when he poised outside the chicken wire protecting the experimental show gardens. Mother Rabbit deposited her four progeny on the other side of the wire, into 2 inches of leaf mold, a perfect camouflage, right under a decorative tripod – the better to deter sweeping hawks.
I almost stepped on two of the little fellows hunkered down in the grass outside the fencing in seeming bewilderment. Had mother carried them through the narrow slot that was inadvertently left open in the garden gate?
Therein lies my moral conundrum. (And you thought conservatives did not belabor the ethical!) I placed the two bunnies in a small cardboard box for show and tell for the chatelaine of the Stately Manor, with a few clippings of grass for sustenance. But this was only for her temporary amusement. Saturday evening, I returned these long-eared waifs to their rude nest and scattered a few leaves atop as a blanket against an early spring night.
So much for the quick fix. What of their long-term future (if rabbits can be said to have same)?
The groundskeepers tell me that the grounds have been besieged by bunnies these past couple of years. Over the winter they strip the young bark from prized bushes. Tulips are a favorite food. Don’t even try to grow lettuce without woven wire. It is doubtful Guantanamo has more fencing than the Blaska premises.
On the farm, when cats overpopulated the dairy barn, the previous Squire had no compunction about throwing them in a gunnysack complemented with a hefty stone and depositing same into the cattle drinking tank. Me, I have compunctions.
I could allow Young Bluster (successor to the snorting original Mr. Bluster) to release his inner predator.
Another option resides in the Stately Manor’s multiple weapons of mass destruction. A long-barrel revolver loaded with .22-caliber shot should dispatch them expeditiously. One can petition the police chief for permission to shoot in city limits, but who needs the red tape!?
My aide de camp, Reuben Mamoulian, suggests we cage the creatures, fatten and slaughter for food and pelt. France knows how to do this; America regards them as pets. I can’t do the silence of the bunnies. The Stately Manor will not host an abattoir.