Critters & varmints.

Took baby dog Nipper out to do his thing the other night, and he stopped dead in his tracks. As readers of the Great Lileks's blog would say, he boofed. 

A boof is a preliminary vocalization that may be performed when judging the presence and nature of a threat. Had it been a deer, or God help us a skunk, barks would certainly follow. But he stopped at the boof, because ten feet away was the first bunny of spring. 

Apologies for the bad iPhone pic; could not
adjust settings for better zoom while restraining
crazed puppy.

Don't get me wrong, Nipper still wanted to run over there and make havoc. Whether it would have been just for fun chasing or for reenacting the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, I prefer not to know. Experience of other dog owners tells me that their sweet little fluffy friend can turn into a killing machine for rabbits or squirrels, and as Jonah Goldberg says, I hate when cute things kill other cute things. So I held on to that leash as tight as I could. Bunny could not seem to comprehend that toothy death was right nearby.

I guess I've got a soft spot for rabbits. Never could get myself to try the Pel-Freez products. But other woodland critters? Pass the plate.

Groundhogs, for example, are on my murder list. It has nothing to do with their stupid winter predictions. When we first moved up to the country, we would occasionally see a fat li'l groundhog waddle across the backyard. "Look!" I'd say. "A cute little beaver!" I really was a city boy.

Some of the forested lots around us got bought, the woods torn down, more houses put up. Then we started to see more groundhogs. And then I started to see gigantic holes in the backyard. I'm not kidding. They have grown over the years. Two of them off the main yard are literally large enough to bury a fawn. Chuck holes keep popping up. So I've been at war the last four years or so. Chemical repellents. Noise repellents. Poisons. Dirt. Bricks. Cinder blocks. Yesterday, no lie, I was outside playing with Nipper and my leg sunk into a hole almost to my knee. These fuzzy little son-of-a-bitches do not take a hint.

This is why I hate movies like Furry Vengeance or Peter Rabbit anymore. I'm living it. Also, the movies suck.

We'll see who wins this battle. Either they are going or I am going. And I am not going. (How can I? Who wants to buy a house that's being undermined by hell's own woodchucks?)