Inadvertently, I’ve found myself in possession of a new job — lawn mowing.
It started simply enough — our wonderful yard man informed us back in the winter months that he needed knee surgery and wouldn’t be able to mow for us this summer.
After calling around, we found a “substitute.” Unfortunately, this man’s work paled in comparison. He wouldn’t edge, wouldn’t weed-eat, wouldn’t sweep the sidewalk and driveway afterward. He refused to show up until at least 10 days had passed (in the summer, our lawn needs cutting at least every 5 days). He wasn’t agreeable to planting extra shrubs, and he charged a ridiculous amount to clean the gutters.
So I volunteered to mow between his regular appearances, spelling him off, as it were.
A week or two passed, then My Favorite Domer arrived home for summer break. Hearing about the problem, he offered to spell me off and climbed aboard the riding mower, heading for our backyard.
He’d made a few rounds when I noticed the humming had ceased. Next, I heard the back door slam.
Uh-oh, I thought.
Fearing the worst, I ran to the kitchen.
My son was white-faced and shaking. “I think I just decapitated a baby bunny,” he told me.
Now I love bunnies. And I hate the thought of a bunny in trouble. Knowing I couldn’t look at what I expected was a gory scene, I told him to take a shovel, scoop up the remains, and toss them far into the field behind the house — far enough away to prevent our Sheltie from feasting on a bunny dinner.
He wouldn’t do it, said he couldn’t. When he appealed to his grandmother, she took care of bunny’s “burial.”
And when he begged me to finish mowing the back yard at least — where mother bunnies invariably safeguard their little ones in ridiculously shallow nests, despite the adult Sheltie who regularly patrols the area — I agreed.
How could I not?
He was so upset and at least for now, has condescended to mow the front yard, assuming that no bunny nests are tucked away there.
I guess I’ll earn that job, too, should he ever see another bunny pop up from its hole!
I hate that when that happens. It feels so horrible. The same thing happened to one of my sons a few years ago.
Thankfully, it’s not happened to me! Bunnies have such terror-filled lives anyway, and this just makes it worse. Thanks for empathizing!
Awww I feel bad for the bunny of-course but worse for your son. How awful. It was an accident but I such an upsetting one. Thank God for Grandmothers…because I could not have handled this one either. I live in mortal fear our pups will grab something in the yard and not kill it completely and then I worry they could kill something completely and I would have to remove it…Sheesh–hire someone speedy quick so I will be able to sleep at night…..!
Thanks, Katybeth — it was really rough on my son. He’s such a kind, tender-hearted soul underneath that manly bravado, and I know he’d never make much of a hunter!
I feel bad for the bunny family and for your son. It’s good that he’s a caring person and was sensitive to the animal’s injury. It’s scary when you meet someone who approaches something like this as if it’s no big deal. I hope the rest of the summer is injury-free for your family (and the bunny families around you.)
Thanks, Janna! Needless to say, since I’m having to mow the back yard these days, I’m being particularly careful to watch for bunnies; I could just kick myself for failing to remind my son about them!
I don’t know who I feel more sorry for, your son’s trauma, the bunny’s death, or your having to take over the mowing!!!
I just wanted to let you know that I used the picture you used for my post
No bunnies were injured!
Lucky you — lucky bunnies!!