by Kelli Bowen
We have our own little backyard funny farm. First, we have our dog, who is finally transitioning out of the annoying puppy-pterodactyl stage and into the good-girl stage. It only took six years.
We have our ladies who provide us with eggs. We figure we are averaging a per-egg cost of around $250, but by the end of summer, we hope to have that number worked down a bit more.
Then we have the bunny sisters. They were supposed to be 4-H projects, but a tornado and an impromptu trip across the state earlier this year solidified their status as nothing more than fluffy pets. They are cute. We think of them like cats, though they always seem to be plotting their escape.
The other morning, I looked out and saw Bunnicula sitting in the middle of our yard, living her best bunny life, outside of her enclosure. I yelled to Miss A and she ran outside to chase down the mischievous rabbit. Then Miss A flew back into the house to tell her sister that Hazelnut was also missing.
After an unsuccessful attempt to corner Bunnicula, she took cover under our neighbor’s shed. There was no sign of Hazelnut. With a “wait it out” plan, my girls waited for their girls to resurface.
Miss E became more nervous that we hadn’t had any sign of Hazelnut. We have a wild brush-filled prairie, a stream, and woods behind our property, so many hiding areas, animal friends, and potential foes lurk not far away.
As the day wound down and hope dimmed, Hubby announced that Hazelnut was lying, chillin, in front of the house. A coordinated effort led to her capture and return to her bougie bunny hutch.
Bunnicula, hearing the ruckus, decided to come check on her sister, and that was the opportunity Miss A needed: she sprinted to catch the bad bunny. As Bunnicula ran for the neighbor’s shed, Miss A jumped up on a pile of rubbish to cut off the bunny bandit, and that’s when she felt it: a nail had gone through her shoe and into her foot.
Her sister carried her to the house, and she alerted the adults. Dr. Dad patched Miss A up while I looked up her tetanus booster status, and alerted her coaches that she may need to take it easy. A bloodied croc lay on the floor while the soap and neosporine flowed. After bandages, popsicles (they fix everything), and some TV time, Miss A felt good enough to go to bed.
Hubby and I reflected on our own nail-in-foot stories. It seems a nail in the foot is almost a rural route right of passage.
On a quest for vengeance, Hubby and Miss E caught the MIA rabbit, and both bunny sisters are in double lockdown until further notice.
After three days of taking it easy, Miss A is back on the court and said, “I just don’t think about my foot hurting,” so it must be feeling better. If any of these funny farm inhabitants go on walkabout again, hopefully everyone watches where they step!
Kelli, a North Dakota girl through and through, has made her home from the eastern prairies to the western badlands with her supportive Hubby, two daughters, and ever-growing menagerie accompanying her along the way.