Die, Garden-Munching Bunnies, Die!

By Bob Rybarczyk

STLTODAY.COM COLUMNIST

07/03/2007

When I was a kid, I loved bunnies. What kid doesn’t? There’s so much to

love about bunnies. Bunnies is fuzzy. Bunnies is fat. Bunnies is munchy. I

sure did love those bunnies.

The key word in that sentence, you see, is “did.”

These days, when I see a bunnies, I want to run up to it and kick its

stupid little fuzzy head clean off, then shove the gory torso onto a spike

in my front yard as a horrific warning to all the other little fuzzy

bunnies.

Same goes for squirrels. And chipmunks. They think they’re all cute and

innocent and stuff. Smug little punks. They have everyone fooled. The kids

think it’s awesome that our yard seems to be constantly swarming with fuzzy

bunnies and fuzzy squirrels and fuzzy chipmunks. I don’t. Not any more.

You know what I see when I look out my window and see a yard full of gentle

woodland creatures? I see what military calls a “target-rich environment.”

They aren’t gentle woodland creatures; they are things that need to be

impacted by warheads. They are the enemy.

You may be wondering how I, an easygoing guy by nature, am able to harbor

such homicidal thoughts about Mother Nature’s most adorable citizens.

You want to know why? I’ll tell you why.

The little mothers are trashing my garden, that’s why.

Pardon me, but might I borrow your semi-automatic assault rifle?

If you’re any kind of gardener, you know what I’m talking about. Not that I

can really call myself a gardener. I can’t. Not really. But I’m dabbling in

it. This year, for the first time ever, Colette and I decided to shell out

a few bucks to put some new plants in our yard.

Actually, we had to shell out more than just a few bucks. Plants, I

discovered, are expensive. As a result, we weren’t able to get everything

we originally wanted, but we got enough to fill the garden in front of our

porch. We bought a couple different kinds of decorative bushes, along with

some petunias to give everything some color.

After we bought everything, we had to wait a few days to plant, because we

happened to buy the stuff on a rainy weekend. We left all the new flowers

on the back patio, in their little plastic containers. A little while

later, when the rain had taken a break, Colette happened to look out the

window at our freshly purchased plants.

And that’s when the shrieking began. Colette yelled, suddenly heading for

the back door.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The bunnies are eating the flowers!” she yelled.

I looked out the window. Sure enough, two big fat bunnies were plunked down

next to the flowers and were munching away (bunnies is munchy) on our

petunias. It was like watching a couple of truckers at the counter in a

greasy-spoon diner.

Except in this case, the truckers were eating my money.

I was once again reminded of how unfair it is that I have not yet somehow

acquired super powers. Bunnies don’t come back once they’ve seen one of

their homeboys fried by heat vision.

Of course, the bunnies bolted as soon as we came bursting through the back

door. And of course they got away scot-free (bunnies is speedy). We moved

the plants to a table, out of the bunnies’ reach, and the battle was won.

Little did I know how short-lived our victory would be.

Now I know how they got so fat

The next weekend, the weather was better and we were able to plant all our

flowers. And you know, they made our garden look really nice. Again, I’m

not really a hardcore gardener, but I did appreciate how nice everything

looked.

But when I went outside the following morning to water the new plants, I

was horror-stricken. All the flowers on the petunias were gone. Every last

one of them. Not only that, but the remaining stalks had been partially

snarfed as well. I couldn’t believe it. I figured the bunnies would munch a

couple things here and there, but I didn’t think they’d clean us out. It

was like looking at the inside of a convenience store after it’s been

looted by rioters.

Not only that, but there, in the middle of our garden, was a fuzzy

squirrel. It was furiously pounding its head into the ground right next to

one of the petunias, effectively digging a big hole right next to what

remained of one of my brand new flower stumps. Why it was digging a hole, I

didn’t know, and I didn’t care. All I know is it was making my already

trashed garden look even trashier.

“Hey,” I said.

The squirrel stopped and looked at me. Clumps of garden sat on its head. I

could tell by its expression that if it could have spoken, it would have

asked why I was bothering it, and probably would have called me

“dill-weed.”

Well, I don’t take that kind of mess from anyone. “Hyaa!” I shouted, waving

my arms and walking toward the little furry maggot. “Get out of here!”

Intimidated by my awesome display of power, the squirrel bolted up the

nearest tree.

At the same time, to my surprise, three gigantic bunnies bolted from

underneath the big bush next to my garden. I’d had no idea they were there.

Unlike the squirrel, which continued to haul butt, the bunnies just ran to

the edge of my yard and stopped.

They sat and stared at me.

I stared right back.

"We munched all your tasty plants, chump," their eyes said. "And we’ll be

back."

"If I ever catch you," my eyes said back, "I’m going to rip out your spinal

cords and use them to hang your mutilated corpses from the nearest tree."

"Whatever, dude," their eyes said. "Bunnies is speedy."

And then, to prove their point, they dashed away, their stupid little

fluffy white tails bobbing taunts at me.

I watched them go, my fists clenched in impotent rage. Where are all the

bunnies-eating hawks when you need one?

Stupid bunnies. Stupid, fuzzy, evil bunnies.

Next year I’m planting land mines.

Bob Rybarczyk (brybarczyk@sbcglobal.net) writes stuff. Sometimes, when he

wakes up in the morning, his mouth tastes really gross.