Bugs Bunny Wouldn't Survive Here

Dead critters in my back yard is not something I was expecting when we bought this house last fall.

I would describe where we live as a "sort-of rural" area. What I mean by that is, this county consists of a lot of small towns that are connected by country roads. I think of it as a big city where all the suburbs haven't quite grown together yet. Give it another 5 years.

In my 8 months here, I've seen more dead animals by the side of the road than I've seen in the last 30 years living in Colorado. Opossums, deer, raccoons, squirrels, ducks, chipmunks, cats, dogs, pretty much any animal you can think of, run over by cars and left for dead. They lay there for weeks. I don't think the county crews can keep up.

Last fall, I found a dead bird lying on the ground in my back yard. I'm not sure how it died, but I picked it up, using a plastic bag (fear of lice or whatever those creepie crawlies are that reside on dead bodies) and tossed it out. Okay, no big deal. Then, on Friday before the long Memorial Day weekend, I let my little 11 lb. Poochon (Bichon and Poodle mix) out for his morning constitution. Ten minutes later, when he still hadn't come back in, I looked out the kitchen window to see what he was up to. He was standing there, stock still, tentatively sniffing at something on the ground. I could see a small lump of grey and red in the grass. Uh-oh, I thought, another dead bird.

Except it wasn't. I couldn't quite figure out what it was at first. My eyes saw, my brain refused to cooperate. In a close little triangle, first we had grey and brown and white fur with a big red blotch on one end and two feet sticking up on the other. Next to that, a neat little pile of snakey-looking somethings that were light grey and wet, and a mere two inches away, was a tiny red thing I hadn't been able to see from the window. It consisted of 3 itty bitty triangles, each one a tiny bit larger than the last, laid in all-in-a row, as if a paper-thin string was holding them all together. Honestly, it looked like a Valentine ornament about to be hung in a window.

I must've stared for a good minute before the ol' brain finally kicked into gear. It was a bunny. Well, half of a bunny. The head, torso and front paws were missing. The poor little thing had been sheared or torn in half. I looked around wildly; what had done this? I saw no sign of a fight (fur, splattered blood, broken foliage), but if something could do that to a bunny, it could certainly do the same to my dog. I shooed the pooch inside, grabbed a handful of plastic bags and very shakily went out to collect the murder victim.

With the bag over my hand, I took hold of one of the paws. The bunny was still so pliable that I had a struggle trying to get the corpse into the bag. Rigor mortis hadn't set in yet, so the crime must've just happened. (Don't ask me if the bunny was still warm. UCK. I have no idea. I was operating on autopilot by then.) With a second bag, I attempted to pick up the grey, wet stuff. (intestines?) With the third bag, I tried scooping up the little red triangles. (heart?) I keep saying 'tried' because both of these things were wet and soft and .... well .... squishy.

:shudder: It's taken me days to work up the courage to write this.

I then put all the bags into a small box. What to do with the box? It's going to be hot all weekend -- and of course this has to be a THREE day weekend -- plus I'm getting visions of curious neighborhood cats or raccoons stopping by for a look. Between the expected heat and possibility of animals, I can't leave the box outside. So, into the garage fridge it goes.

It was a long weekend. Every time I had to go into the garage, I thought of the bunny. I was afraid to let the dog out. I still couldn't figure who the attacker might have been. My youngest son thought it was probably a raccoon. My husband thought the carcass was probably dropped by a hawk or maybe even a crow, perhaps while being chased by another bird of prey. Neither thought was comforting.

Before I go outside now, I warily scan the entire yard, afraid I'll see some other dead thing lying there. I worriedly watch the dog as he sniffs and runs. I also look skywards and think, "What if it was a bird ... and what if I'd been standing underneath when it fell?"

OMG.

A couple of days later, I got up to do something, happened to glance out the front window, and saw the neighbor's cat lying stretched out at the top of our driveway. It was belly up, like it'd been thrown there or had stopped to have itself a good, long, lazy stretch. It took half a second to realize the cat was under a truck. A quarter of a heartbeat later, the back tire ran over the cat (thump) and drove off. Didn't stop, didn't slow down, didn't even blink. It just drove away. Assholes.

I squawked or screamed or something and was out the door in a flash, hubby right behind me. The cat (an orange tabby) struggled to stand upright, got on its feet and took off for the woods across the street in an uneven, sideways lurch. You could tell it was hurt. It took the neighbors, their kids, and us over an hour to coax the terrified cat -- his name was Billy -- out of the thick underbrush. They rushed him to the vet, but there was no hope. Billy the cat died later that night.

A day later, our little dog came in from outside, acting funny. He kept walking from room to room, head down, tail down, looking forlorn. He wouldn't sit down, wouldn't eat, wouldn't come to me, he just kept walking. "What's wrong, baby?" I picked him up to examine him, and it only took a moment to see the side of one paw was bloody; he'd torn one of his dew claws almost completely out. (Ugh. And OUCH.) Off to the vet we go. It is, of course, already infected and we have to, of course, perform surgery. The vet tells me his dew claws stick out too much, and we should remove both at the same time. I nod and agree, knowing what I'm saying, but still in a state of semi-shock. What is it with this county?

The dog came thru surgery fine. He's been on a "no jumping, running or stairs" regimine per doctor's orders for the past 10 days. He's also had to wear the Cone of Shame so he won't pull out the sutures. Yesterday was the first day he got to run free again and chase the chipmunks in the back yard. He's been in a sort of whirling-dervish mode, making up for lost playtime. It's hard to keep a 2 year old down.

This morning, we found 2 dead birds in the back yard. Baby birds. Yesterday they were fine, chirping away in their little birdhouses. This morning they're goners. We haven't a clue why.

Dear Bugs Bunny: You are one of my favorite cartoon characters (it's a tie between you 'n Snoopy, actually). Although I know you are not real, I still fear for your safety. Yes yes, I realize I'm being irrational, but, please humor me. I don't know if you've ever visited the northwest Chicago suburbs, but nevertheless, I don't want you to even think about coming anywhere near here. Do not, I repeat, do NOT take that left at Albuquerque.

Bugs? Bugs ... ? Are you listening .... ?