So Saturday afternoon, we were all set to head to our neighbor's annual weenie-dog kegger to celebrate Halloween. The kids were all dressed up (see Hermione & Sumo Wrestler), I had my balloon, and Jesse had an arrow through his head.
We've been giving the kitty outdoor privileges when we can, so Hannah went outside to bring her in before it got dark and raucous kids began to march up through our yard. Suddenly, she screamed.
If you've spent any time with Hannah at all, you'll know this wasn't alarming. Mix anxiety with a tendency to over-react and a compassion for all living creatures, and you'll scream too if you see your dogs mauling a little furry something.
I was worried it was the cat, but luckily (for the cat, anyway) they'd flushed a baby cottontail from its nest and were eagerly slavering over it. We brought it inside, and were looking for a box for it when we heard the dogs arguing. Running outside, I found Bo with another baby...its back feet hanging out of his cavernous maw. Reader, Baby Bunny #2 did not make it.
But Baby Bunny #1 stayed safe in the box all night, and was well and hopping the next morning. We took it over to Wildlife Rescue, paid the reasonable $20 rehabilitation fee they suggested, and left secure in the knowledge that our little Bunny would be OK.
Because there are not enough Bunnies in the world, right?