Results-driven Elmer Fudd

Many, many years ago, my youngest sister, Shanna (Soulfood), had a little rabbit named George. George had all black fur and was very small. Like very, very small. I don't know if he was some breed of dwarf rabbit or what, but he was always able to fit in the palm of my hand. 

Shanna always wanted a rabbit, so there was some delight when she finally got one. But at the same time, I don't know that she was in a position to care for an animal yet. At the same time, she was about 15 when she got George, so also just a teenager. And who cares about anything when you're a teenager? 

And so it fell to me on occasion to look after the little guy. Not that this was much of a lift, feed him, clean out his cage, play with him once in a while. One day, while I was playing with ol' George, Mom instructed me to go give that rabbit a bath. 

I recall even saying then, "Do rabbits need baths?" My thought was maybe they're self-cleaning. Like a cat. Or the oven. 

But mom insisted so dutifully, I proceeded. I took George to the sink, put in some water and gave him a gentle scrub. After that, I wiped him off, put a towel in the bottom of the bathtub and let George run around a bit in there to get totally dry - rather than put him back in his cage where his wet fur would just get clogged with woodchips. 

I left for a moment to do something and, upon return, found ol' George dead as a doornail.

It was pretty upsetting. I mentioned it in a discussion with Kayah last week that I haven't faced death that often. Since then, I've said goodbye to a couple of dogs and many fish. But up to that point, it had only been some distant or very old relatives. I'd never stared death in the face. 

Fast forward 25 years to Sunday night (Monday morning?), and I was driving south on Highway 2 on the way home from a gig in Prince Albert. I had just passed the turnoff to Penzance when a streak dashed from the ditch to the left of me and directly under my bumper. The last I would see was two tall rabbit ears before a sickening THUMP. 

Pilot's rabbit bodycount: 2. 

Talk about taking the joy out of a good night. Luckily, the car wasn't damaged, but that poor rabbit is now another mess of roadkill on the side of the road. 

I'm not so sure why Elmer Fudd found rabbit hunting so hard. I've taken two down without too much effort, and in my part of the world, you can walk within a couple of feet of a rabbit. I guess it speaks to the skill and intelligence of Bugs Bunny that he was able to survive so many run-ins.  But I do think ol' Elmer may need some guidance from an experienced hunter. 

Because if I were in a survival situation, I'd be eating rabbit.