Cottontail Discovery

  Warning:  The following contains material that may not be suitable for all readers.  If you refer to the supporting appendages of a table as its “limbs”, or if you are embarrassed or offended by discussions of bodily functions (not sex), you probably should refrain from reading this.

      This starts out nicely enough with a warm fuzzy:  cottontail rabbits.  But then it deteriorates abruptly.

      In past times, I have cursed cottontails.  I have threatened and raved against them.  I even went so far as to shoot at one who found his way through the web of wire lining the garden enclosure.   The .22 was not sighted in for the distance, about ten feet.  While the sights were carefully aligned on a dot above his nose and between his eyes, the slug passed between his ears, which flickered as the mini missile popped by.  He took off like the proverbial bat and leaped over the chicken wire mesh, and somehow, made it through the spaces in the metal rod panels that make up the fence.

      Another of Peter’s cousins who made his way under a wall into a machine shed wasn’t so lucky.  Though the wound was closer to the right eye than to the left, it was fatal.  I thought to myself as I carried the corpse to its final resting place where the coyotes could find it, this really wasn’t the way I wanted to conduct the war.  His offense probably didn’t qualify as a capital crime.

      I haven’t shot another one.  Not even when, late on a September evening, I came to the farm from Kansas in need of the ’80 Pontiac.  It wouldn’t start.  It had been sitting there since June, under a tree, close to the house. A day or two later, I found out why.  The rabbits had chewed a number of park plug wires in two.  How did I know the furry creatures were to blame, you might ask.  When I pushed the hood up, one jumped off the engine and took off running.

      In Kansas I had a dilemma, three vehicles and a two-car garage.  If I left the pickup out, the packrats chewed off vacuum hoses and injector wires.  If I left the Dynasty out, the rabbits chewed through the wires to the crank sensor.  Usually, they chewed the wire off close enough to the sensor so that I could not splice it.  The sensor cost $54.  I bought three of them.

      I would have gladly executed the offender, if I could have caught him.  I found a surer way of repelling the obnoxious critters—rabbit repellent.  Sprinkling the granules where the engine and transaxle meet, as well as on the ground under the engine compartment, kept them at bay.

     Lately I have discovered one thing that cottontails are good for.  No, not eating.  Tried that once.  Once was enough.

     This where it gets a bit indelicate.  Cottontails eat grass.  I discovered that they can be persuaded to eat a certain grass, a nuisance grass, say the grass growing in the iris patch.  Like many great discoveries, it came about almost accidentally.

     A couple of year ago, I noticed a place where there had been grass for many years.  The grass was gone.  There was even a hollow where the grass grew on the level.  There was no loose dirt as if a dog or other digging animal had dug there.  There was no dirt piled up near the site.  It was smooth earth formed into the shape of a shallow bowl. Whatever dirt had been excavated had been removed from the site.  

     It took a while to make the connection.  Not many people will understand this, certainly not most urban dwellers, and for sure, not many females from any jurisdiction. 

     It will take an outdoorsman, certainly most farmers, hunters, fishermen, foresters, maybe cross country skiers, and the like, to understand.  There will be a few of the fairer sex who will understand.  I know this because years ago, I subscribed to a farm magazine that specialized in sharing creative ideas from the readers. 

     One idea featured a picture of a tractor with a toilet seat attached to the side.  It folded up when not being used, and folded down for use.  The picture was submitted by a female tractor driver who found it inconvenient to answer nature’s call during her workday out in the back forty.  She had affixed the toilet seat to the tractor just for such occasions.  She didn’t say, but I bet it included a heated seat, judging from the seat’s close proximity to the tractor’s engine.

      My daughter once worked as a wrangler on a dude ranch where she took dudes on daylong rides with a picnic lunch.  Unfortunately, there was no washroom, no facilities.  Many of her dudes were ladies, who had to answer nature’s call squatting in the bushes.

     I think it was a French lady who mentioned and later sent to her a device designed to allow a lady to relieve herself standing up.  It was cleverly named a “she-he” or something like that.  I am unable to recall what it looked like well enough to describe it, though it was small enough to be easily carried on an outdoor trip such as a horseback ride.  I never tried using one.  Those who tried it swore that it did the job well enough.

      Yes, some ladies will understand, but by now, every reader should understand that what I am referring to is urinating outdoors.

      I don’t know many farmers who will walk twenty or thirty yards to the nearest comfort station, remove muddy or otherwise befouled boots, just to relieve himself.  Not to mention wasting two liters of water to flush a pint of pee.  It’s much faster and easier, more economical to find an out-of-the way place where he can complete his business modestly and be mostly unobserved.  Being creatures of habit, many outdoorsmen will find a favorite place for such activity.

       Now, back to the rabbits.  It was just such a place where the grass and some of the soil was missing, a place I had visited more than once.  The rabbits of course had left their calling cards, too.  It wasn’t rocket science to make the connection of rabbit droppings, chewed and missing grass and soil, and my contribution to the place.

     It was no problem to test the hypothesis.  I found a piece of grass that was out of place and out of sight.  Sure enough, after a few days, that anointed patch of grass was chewed down to soil level.  Telltale droppings were bountiful.  Hypothesis proved.

     Irises are not my favorite flower.  They are pretty and colorful for a week or so in May or June, then they are these blades sticking up in the air for the rest of the summer.  I much prefer tulips.  They come up as early as February when a person longs to see something green.   They bloom in March and April.  By June, they have dried up and gone away.  You can mow over their bed, no weeding necessary.

      I inherited an iris patch.  It is infested with grass that outgrows the iris blades every summer.  Pulling the grass out requires a lot of strength and effort.  I bought an expensive herbicide that is supposed to kill the grass and not harm the irises.  I have had mixed success with that product.  It takes some time to mix the product, spray the irises, clean out the sprayer and put everything away.  The irises are not worth the time and trouble, especially with the mixed results.

      Iris patch, rabbits willing to eat grass.  Hmmm.  Time to try another experiment.  The iris patch is somewhat exposed.  My desire to try further the hypothesis overrode my innate modesty.  I just have to be sure no one is around, not really much of a problem at the farm. 

     Hypothesis confirmed, redundancy, whatever the proper scientific phrase may be.

     Grass growth greatly reduced.  It remains to be seen how the irises react to the treatment.      

     Rabbits can be put to some useful task.  However, I have more than enough for the job.  Therefore, I would gladly entertain anyone who likes rabbit in their diet.  I can spare them.  Let me know and we can arrange a rabbit safari.

     I can certainly understand if anyone is reluctant to harvest these rabbits.  While they are grass fed, they certainly have ingested a supplement.  I’m not sure if they would be considered “organic”.  I doubt I will apply for organic certification.  The inspection could be embarrassing.        

     Caveat emptor applies in this case.   Just let me know when you would like to go hunting.