Tuesday, July 9, 2013

The Little Bunny Foo Foo Dichotomy

The other day I was just sitting in my recliner, playing on the computer, and minding my own business. When, out of the corner of my eye, I see a fat little mouse/chipmunk/whatever mosey across my kitchen floor. Yep. Mosey. Not scurry, scamper nor run. It took its ever-loving sweet time. Well, since I am vehemently opposed to all creatures in my house, save my Oscar, I immediately hopped up and drove to the store and purchased a mouse-catching hotel. It's way easier and cleaner than a traditional trap.

Mice Motel. Free breakfast and HBO.
No fuss, no muss. Just bait it, set it and forget it. The best part? No fingers are harmed in the setting of this trap. Soooo.... Anyway, I buy this thing, go back home, bait it with peanut butter (?? I thought they loved cheese..) and scoot it to a dark corner of the kitchen. It sat there for days with nary a whisper. I started thinking that maybe I imagined the whole episode. Then I had a dream (possibly) that the same cute little mouse (or whatever) was standing on its hind legs walking around the kitchen while wearing a frilly blue apron.

Soooo..... to tie this in to Bunny Foo Foo.... The song goes:
"Little Bunny Foo Foo walking through the forest, scooping up field mice and boppin' 'em on the head..."

Sorta twisted, now that I think about it. Anyway, if BFF (Bunny Foo Foo, not best friends forever. Just in case you were confused.) were around, he could take care of my little mouse. He could just scoop him right up, bop him on the head, and they both could be on their merry little ways.

But noooooo. Instead of ridding my house of field mice, he and his cohorts think my garden is an all-you-can-eat-buffet. Those little rabbity shits are eating all the effing green beans in my garden. The cute little fluffy Thumpers, who I once thought A-dorable, are my worst freaking nemesis now. If I knew how to shoot a gun, I'd be sitting garden-side, lying in wait like Elmer Freakin' Fudd. Now, I normally don't want anything to do with hunting, or shooting, or critters in general. But these little shits are really starting to piss me off. I've had to replant the damn green beans three times. Three. Times. That is a honkin' lot of hoeing. (And  I'm waaaaay past my hoing days. See what I did there? Hoe/Ho? HAHAHA! I crack me up...)

Three times I've replanted the beans. After I tried three different methods to discourage the munching of the vegetables. First, I tried spreading hair around the outside edges. Then I went to spraying this noxious concoction of vinegar and cayenne pepper, which apparently only seasoned them for the thieves. Next, I went with scattering moth balls all throughout the plants. This only resulted in the whole garden smelling like grandma's attic. Finally, with nothing left to do, I had to put up a stinkin' fence. Now I have to hurdle over the damn thing just to weed the beans. (I have to hold my crotch while hurdling the fence because, yeah, it HURTS to be poked in the vag with chicken wire. Just FYI. You're welcome.)

So, to make a long story longer, I finally have beans growing. My garden looks like rednecks hopped up on meth decorated it, but I will have my green beans. The damn things better be worth it...

No comments:

Post a Comment