The dirtier I get, the happier I am. No, this is not a new Fox TV Network show. It was a thought that occurred to me while I was cleaning out rabbit pens. Although it's a dirty, dusty job that leaves me with straw in my hair, it's still rewarding. The rabbits hop about, delighted with the fresh straw. Pen cleaning time is also a good opportunity to perform health checks and bunny pedicures. I check their coats, trim their nails and make sure they are in good condition.
We have nine rabbits, starting with three black and white Dutch: Ophelia and Chester and their daughter, Nibbles. Ophelia wasn't a very nice mama and most of her first (and last) litter sustained injuries when they were born.
Nibbles took the hardest hit and her ears are gone. I've said many times life in the barn can be violent. Despite her disability, Nibbles has done quite well. However, as most rabbit breeding information discourages letting an "unfit" doe bear more litters, we never bred Ophelia again. She is still sort of a crab, too. She doesn't actually bite when a hand reaches into her pen, but she lunges as if she wants us to think she will.
In addition to the Dutch rabbit family we have Captain January and April, the lionhead rabbits and their daughter, dainty little Princess Pea. Lionheads have smooth short-haired coats with a mane of long fur around the head and neck. The last three rabbits came from my aunt and uncle who, due to a variety of health problems, were finding it more and more difficult to keep up with their care. So, last summer I brought them home with me. I feel honored that they let me have them.
Tim named tiny Pearl, a white mini-rex with pink eyes and a sparkling personality. She was always making nests, so I put an old pigeon nest box in her pen. She loved it and spends hours in it. When I give her some alfalfa hay, I put it in front of the opening and ask her if she likes breakfast in bed.
Mr. Jackson, a small black and white rabbit named for my aunt's father, resides in the pen below Pearl's. He's the friendliest bun we've ever had. He enjoys being petted and waits for a pat or two when it's supper time. Our oldest daughter came up with the name Snug from Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream" for our shy mini-lop.
I've always loved rabbits. I don't know what exactly it is that is so endearing, but for years, from the time I was very young, I used to dream of the day I could have a rabbit of my very own. While I did show for a short time, I just enjoy them now. I wish they could run free like the cottontails that frolic along the evergreen windbreak. It wouldn't be wise for two main reasons: They wouldn't be safe from predators and roaming cats and dogs and they are not spayed or neutered. While we like the bunnies we have now -- nine is enough!
And we have enough ducks and chickens, too. That is why once or twice a week I go on a thorough search for clandestine poultry nests and setting hens. I call it barn birth control. When I find these eggs, I collect them into a bucket and hike out behind the barn a way and dispose of them. They never go to waste as they are quickly dispatched by the wild folk.
This sounds like an unsavory task, but it's not at all. The dogs are excited to get to run in the fields and woods and I get to see what spring has brought.
This week spring beauties carpeted the woods like a first snow and although I had many tasks calling me back to the house, the call of spring was stronger. Closer inspection revealed white and yellow trout lilies and the exotic burgundy flowers of sessile trillium nestled in last year's dry leaves. Time didn't allow for me to search further into the woods, although temptation was strong. Perhaps this week -- or next -- there will be time.