...and now for your irregularly scheduled rabbit eradication post

This summer's third generation of Sauron's Wraith Rabbits (^TM LlamaButcher [and Hard-Core Gardener] Robert) has shown up in the garden, wreaking their usual havoc. Border bedding gazania—gone. Groundcover hyacinth bean—gone. My heart sinks to see more new baby bunnies. They are not cute. They are a nightmare, and a plague. One of them has a particularly bad attitude. Instead of the usual panicked, spring-loaded retreat when confronted with the human, this one merely proceeds to a different section of the garden with a sauntering lope. Yesterday, it stared back at me, squatted, and made a deposit of pellets for all to see. Today, it stared back at me, and went into a full yoga stretch (the cow asana, I believe). Don't be so cocky, I say. There's an expert in the use of Kentucky windage in the house. And the new blackberry bushes are very, very hungry.

If you're hungry for rabbit, I commend to you a series of recipes from A Birdwatcher's Cookbook by Erma J. (Jonnie) Fisk, who was married to Roger Tory Peterson. They're pretty simple; the basic principle is marinate the heck out of 'em and cook 'em "just like chicken" (fried, roasted, braised, stewed...you get the idea). (The book also includes recipes for "Black-eyed rabbit" and "Tomato rabbit", but they turn out to be variants of Welsh rarebit, with no rabbit sacrifice required. Let's move on, shall we?)

A quirky anecdote from the rabbit chapter of the cookbook is titled "Winged Rabbit":

You have to think, though. On Cape Cod one day, to introduce northern friends to rabbit, I bought a frozen one. The directions on the package said to use honey in the marinade. I didn't think. When I came to clean my electric frying pan, several packs of S.O.S. later I decided it would be easier to buy a new one—the honey was permanently fused in. Oh, well—I really needed a new pan anyway. This one had seen heavy service, was overdue for replacement. It had been given to me by Ian Nisbet one summer when I house-mothered his ornithological research crew, studying tern colonies on Cape Cod. While it was a sentimental wrench to send it to the Salvation Army, I balanced this with my story to subsequent guests[,] of the woman who had returned the piece of rabbit I had put on her plate, saying she preferred a drumstick to a wing. Wings on a rabbit?

Erma J. Fisk. A Birdwatcher's Cookbook. W. W. Norton & Company, 1987. ISBN 0-393-02502-0.

Comments

[Robert the Llama Butcher]

Fellow-feeling Yips! to you! Oddly enough, in "Dr. Dogbody's Leg" by James Norman Hall, a book in which I am thoroughly engrossed at the moment, there is a character named Balthus, a retired Royal Navy gunner, who has the habit of exclaiming "God's rabbit!" in moments of emotion. It strikes me that we should try to bring the two closer together.....

[Kathy]

I would research dog breeds and find out which one(s) were bred to hunt rabbits, and invest in one. Though I must admit, even a good mousing cat can catch baby bunnies and dispatch them. Ours did--may God rest her soul. Or maybe have your kids learn to accurately use slingshots?

[Chan S.]

Robert - indeed! In fact, I'll set about singing "Nearer My God To Thee" each time I see one...that'll be sure to knock 'em dead. (rimshot)

Kathy - great minds think alike! Do not tell my kids (who hear from me, regularly, "No. Pets. Ever."), but the idea of a basset hound (American Kennel Club says: "the foremost use of the Basset Hound in the United States is for the hunting of rabbits"), named "Mitchell" (after you-know-who, who had them too), has been a bit of a fantasy of mine for a while.

[Kathy]

Better hope your kids don't read your blog.

[Chan S.]

So far, so good. (Furtively glancing around...)

[Molly Fisk]

Just a note to say you've got an error in this post. Erma J. Fisk was my grandmother, and she wasn't married to Roger Tory Peterson, but to Bradley Fisk. She and Roger were both birders, but I'm not sure they knew each other well.

She is I'm sure spinning in her grave at the very idea!

best,
Molly Fisk