Evicted

I stood at the kitchen sink washing my hands, gazing out the kitchen window. A bunny hobbled up toward the house with a clump of twigs and grass in its mouth, disappeared under the windowsill, and hobbled away empty-mouthed. Since we have a fenced-in yard populated by at least two bunny-destroying little dogs, I went to investigate. Sure enough, a little burrow was being constructed under the kitchen window between some dense greenery my mom had growing. It was only just a divot so far, with a huge tumbleweed of rabbit fluff nestled inside.

The bunny came back into the yard and froze, nostrils hard at work and mouth full of new twigs. She stared at me, and feeling like a complete monster, I chased her toward the corner of the fence where she had been getting in. I went inside to grab a yard stick. I stuck it in the divot to be sure it went no further, and set about deconstructing the little home she had been making. It seemed a terrible waste, so I picked her fur up with the edge of the stick and carried it clump by clump, depositing it just on the other side of the fence. She waited a little beyond, still watching, her mouth still full of construction material. She seemed to be wondering if I would go away so she could resume her task.

I wouldn't.

After I was satisfied she had enough of her insulation back, I went for some bricks and one by one, stacked them against the gap in the fence she had been using to get in and out. By the time I was done, she had left. Her pile of fur lay where I left it.

The next day, I went out to see if she had reclaimed her fur to rebuild. All but one small tuft was gone, but it had also been a windy day so I can't be sure it didn't simply just blow away.

I still see a bunny exploring around outside our fence and wonder if it's the same bunny, and if she's still traumatized from the rude eviction to which I subjected her. As awful as it felt to displace her, it probably felt better than knowing she and her babies were almost certain dog food.