survival of the fittest

Call us lame. Call us bleeding hearts. Call us weenies. We don't care. We love all the animals that live in our backyard and in the park just beyond our fence. We especially love Marshall. He is the baby bunny that lived under our deck and let BJ and me pretend he was our pet. BJ fed him cracked corn, carrots, ginger root...by fed, I mean BJ would scatter it on the ground and Marshall would cautiously creep out to eat it while we watched.

Much to my dismay, I came home from work, gas station, grocery store and Jun's for takeout only to find our sweet Marshall in our sweet Ruby's mouth.

I love that girl (and her sister) more than just about anything, so I don't think I was able to make my voice stern enough or point my finger stiffly enough to make her understand that it was NOT OK...especially when her ears lay down and her sad face breaks my heart. I mean, she's our little huntress, it's her nature, right? Dern Darwinism.

Alas, Marshall still resides under our deck because Ruby dropped him under the stairs and I don't have the cojones to go get him. In his memory there is a red solo cup emblazoned "MARSHALL" in black sharpie on our kitchen counter that will likely remain until the trash truck comes again next Wednesday.