A Plague Of Bunnies (Happy Easter)
In March of 2002, on the day that Robert Blake was arrested on suspicion of murdering his wife, there was another hot story in Los Angeles. It attracted the presence of the press helicopters and news vans and dominated the airwaves until Mr. Blake turned himself in later the same day. The news stories were, as far as anyone can know, unrelated.
The first story was perhaps even more dramatic than the tawdry spectacle of another well-known actor facing the music for allegedly icing his wife. This story featured suffering on a large scale, cruelty inflicted out of ignorance, and a messy rescue operation mandated by court order. The operation was masterminded not by the FBI or the U.S. Marine Corps, but by the SPCA. After all, we don’t call in the FBI or the Marines to rescue rabbits.
That’s right, rabbits; about three hundred of them. The SPCA swooped in with a small, non-violent militia and took custody of a rabbit population that had grown out of their owner’s control, and were living in appalling conditions in a hot Los Angeles back yard. The liberated bunnies were housed in an SPCA shelter that had stood empty since shortly after the September 11 attacks. In the nearly two years since then, the rabbits were spayed and rehabilitated and the majority have been adopted into good, responsible homes. There are plenty of rabbits left, however, and rabbits require daily care and attention.
One Saturday morning I drove to the shelter, near the Jefferson Park area of Los Angeles, and did some unglamorous work. We volunteers cleaned out stalls and cages, replenished supplies of water and food (consisting mainly of hay: oat, barley, and timothy), laid out fresh towels and made sure the cardboard boxes they like to play in were not wet or filthy. To help the animals get used to human beings, part of our job was to socialize as much as possible: talk to them, pick them up (properly) and handle them.
The concrete floors were slippery with straw all around. Water was dumped into convenient gutters that ran past the stalls leading to drains in the floor. In addition to each other, we maneuvered around piles of towels headed for the laundry, and the baskets which the rabbits use as their dining area and their latrine. Cleaning out these bleachy-smelling baskets and restoring them was the messiest task that confronted us, but even this wasn’t so bad.
My biggest challenge was Buster. Buster does not fit the prevailing stereotype of a gentle, beautiful, innocent bunny. Buster has been around a block or two. He looks like he has held his own in quite a few fights. He has eyesight reduced to 10% vision in one eye: in other words, he’s blind. “Close your eyes and have your friends move their hands around your head,” said our supervisor, who looked a bit like a rabbit himself. “That’s what his life is like.”
As I entered the stall, Buster gave me a warning hiss and feinted a bit with one of his paws. These rabbits have claws, you know. They are not retractable claws, either. These claws are long and they are always out – you can be scratched in self-defense or simply by accident. Mark you, these rabbits are wild creatures and they have defenses. Somehow, gentle reader, I don’t sense that you are feeling fearful. Is that snickering I hear?
Buster and I worked things out. I kept up a steady patter the whole time so he could hear where I was. He reacted with curiosity when I sang, as I scraped away at something on the floor of his cell with a blade. He didn’t like it when I removed the cardboard box he used as a cave, but the business was soon over and he reclaimed his cave with a satisfied grunt. I was told that Buster has mellowed out a lot since he got a girlfriend.
The rabbits all have individual personalities. Some are curious. There are certain rabbits referred to in the shelter as “stage hands,” who roam around freely showing a strong interest in everything that goes on, and taking everything in stride. They are also mostly coated in black, as becomes a stage hand. Some of the other rabbits are paranoid or simply fearful. Some creatures were very amenable to receiving care, and some were not. Others preferred getting attention from humans they were familiar with. Some quarreled with one another (they are territorial creatures). One technique used for bonding rabbits that aren’t getting along is to take them for a ride in a car. “My S.U.V. is neutral territory for them, and it’s a scary experience,” said rabbit man. “When you’re in the midst of a scary experience, what do you look for? A buddy!”
It struck me that all rabbit-man had to do was pile a couple of bunnies in the backseat of his Explorer and go for a ride on a bumpy street; humans have a much more difficult time of it, with one another. This is true even now as the finitude of our resources bring our populations closer together, when there is great need and those who offer care must work through obstacles that are human-made.
