Herman Muncher XVI

 OK, I don't really know if Herman Muncher is the sixteenth. I don't even know if he's a "he".  I only know that he's a baby, and a Cottontail rabbit.

 Twenty-two years ago, when we moved into this neighborhood of closely-packed houses and modestly sized lawns, we were annoyed at the number of rabbits that lived here. Not that we don't like rabbits. We do. In fact, I used to have a compulsion to chase rabbits - on foot! - all in good fun, of course. I've caught a few over the many years. One was a domestic rabbit gone wild. I learned to corner them, and I learned it wasn't easy. I learned that they can kick like mules and break a bone in your hand. And the teeth? Forget the teeth! The teeth are a power saw. Yet, it's the agility that is most impressive. I still have pain in my right knee from one memorable rabbit-chase in 1987, during which I fell, twisting my knee and injuring it.
 What I learned... don't run on wet grass.

 Well, we had a pair of English Setters (hunting dogs) at that time and it wasn't long before they, Gus and Milo, began catching rabbits that ran across our back yard. I was able to save one baby rabbit from them. We 'nursed' him back to health and then let him go, alongside the house. We named him "Herman Muncher I", in honor of Herman Munster; and also because he was a "muncher".

 So, last night I was on the back patio with our two present-day dogs, Tino and Sofi, when I heard an awful squealing. Then, I found Tino with a baby rabbit in his mouth. I recovered the little rabbit and brought him indoors, worried that he might be seriously hurt, but he seems to be just fine. Covered with sticky burrs and a little dirt, but otherwise OK.
 I wanted to help him in his time of great need because just four years ago, my wife and emergency personnel rescued me from a Sudden Cardiac Arrest. Now, I return the favor in which ever way I can.

 For the dogs, it wasn't much of a contest. Tino and Sofi are Italian Greyhounds and the Cottontail is just a baby - about 5 inches long, 3 inches high, and 2 inches wide. His little ears about an inch long - dark grey fur with some streaks of white and reddish-brown - and yes... he's cute - but the dogs don't care.
 In the house, I set him down on the floor to see if his legs were alright, and WOW! - the little speedster took off running. Like a rabbit-toddler. He ran this way and that way, and that way and this way, and I had a hard time keeping up with him. I can't catch 'em like I used to. But he was no match for the enormous pile of boxes, books, TV, and other junk that is sitting on the living room floor these days, awaiting disposal. He simply got himself trapped, and then I had him... that's all. No victory for me. As I write this, he's sleeping on a towel, in a cardboard box. 
 
 So, I think I'll take him over to visit the grandkids tomorrow. I'll also keep him for another day or two - just for the photo-op.
  But then I'll have to release him into the wild and untamed green grass, along the side of the house. I hope he'll be alright and the neighbor's dog doesn't get him. Of course, there are still the bees, and the crows, and the racoons, and the possums - all out there. A snake in the grass? Yes, very possible. (And I live in a fairly civilized neighborhood.)
 
 I hope that one day, later in the year, we'll see him hopping happily on our front lawn at night; just as we used to see his ancestor, Herman Muncher I, hopping on the lawn. I hope that Herman Muncher XVI lives on. I hope that I live on. (Sigh...)

 Hey. Life ain't easy for nobody.