A Rabbit Tale

A Story by Heather L

A retired scientist discovers the consequences of trying to rid his garden of rabbits...

A tiny pink nose peered from around the side of the bright green potting shed. Right in front of the young rabbit lay the mother-lode: lettuce. He cautiously glanced left and then right, but saw no sign of the crazy thing on two-legs that made angry, loud sounds and waved sticks about whenever it spotted the little rabbit. He quickly dashed into the lettuce patch and tucked into a tasty meal of rampion and arugula.

Inside the potting shed, Dr. Wendish hefted a 50 pound bag of gardening soil onto his shoulder and swayed a bit unsteadily. He gritted his teeth and shuffled slowly towards the door, cursing silently. He was getting too old for this. His thin frame trembled slightly as he rounded the door and turned the corner overlooking the lettuce and radish patches. A flash of brown and white fur hopping merrily through the icebergs caught his attention and he growled at the back of this throat before yelling, “Gol-durn RABBIT!”

The little rabbit froze in its tracks and quickly jerked its head upright, a half-eaten lettuce leaf dangling accusingly from his mouth. It stared in horror at Dr. Wendish, who was carefully setting down the heavy bag of soil and reaching for his favorite stick. The rabbit’s eyes grew large at the famous Wendish Rabbit Whacker (it was painted in big red letters along the length). He immediately shot towards the large hole dug under the fence and Wendish took off after him, a trail of obscenities about Oryctolagus cuniculus issuing forth from his mouth.

The rabbit narrowly missed getting whumped across the hindquarters as it deftly squeezed through the hole right before Wendish’s stick came down behind it. Wendish leaned a hand against the fence, breathing heavily. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a blue and white checkered handkerchief and mopped his brow and neck. He was also getting to old to chase rabbits out of his gardens. “My ticker’s not up to this anymore,” he grumbled. “Gotta be something I can do to save my lettuce and keep me from keelin’ over dead in the strawberries.” As he stood there collecting his breath, the answer came to him. It was the rabbits that were going to keel over, not him.

His careworn and lined face broke into a huge grin as he left the Whacker leaning against the fence as a warning to the rabbits that their lettuce-thieving days were numbered. Wendish chuckled fiendishly as he headed to his house and his lab in the basement…

The grow-lights flashed off the lenses of Dr. Wendish’s large, round glasses as he bent close to the short row of baby lettuce plants. He looked quite different from a cantankerous old gardener and more like the agricultural genetic scientist he’d been before he’d retired. He adjusted his lab coat that was covered with multiple colored stains and carefully poured a small amount of bright blue liquid from an Erlenmeyer flask around the bases of each of the lettuce seedlings. “This final dose should take care of those damn rabbits,” he grumbled. He shut off the grow lights, picked up the tray of seedlings, and went up the stairs that led from the basement to the garden.

Wendish chose a prominently bare spot in the garden and close to the hole in the fence to plant the seedlings. He transplanted the precious experimental lettuce with more care than usual, gave the plants a nice drink of water, and then left them to the mercy of the rabbits.

It wasn’t long before the brown and white cottontail decided to visit the garden for an afternoon snack. He wiggled carefully under the fence and almost squeaked with delight at the sight of the new seedlings. The rabbit hopped eagerly over to the lettuce, but then stopped in his tracks. He sniffed the lettuce and then wiggled his nose in confusion. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. His stomach growled hungrily and the rabbit did the equivalent of a bunny shrug and tore into the lettuce. The cottontail’s eyes grew large with delight at the wonderful, delicate flavor of the plant. So sweet! So tender! It was the best he’d ever tasted and he quickly devoured the entire plant and then moved onto the next one.

He would have eaten the whole patch if the little female cottontail hadn’t joined him at that moment, also in search of a snack. She, too, sniffed confusedly at the lettuce before ripping into it. The two rabbits soon had devoured the entire crop and both of them sprawled insolently in the brown dirt, belching quiet bunny burps.

Neither of them thought of Dr. Wendish in their contentment, but they both noticed that he was acting awfully strange when he came strolling around the corner of the garden shed. They sat up, eyes bright with trepidation as he stopped in his usual spot. Instead of shouting and grabbing the Whacker, he just crossed his arms and grinned malevolently at them. “Eat up, little bunnies,” he chortled with delight.

The lack of shouting confused the poor rabbits. They decided it was best to leave and they both hopped slower than usual towards the hole away from the crazy old man. Once on the other side of the fence, the two rabbits stopped and then looked at each other. Both rabbits suddenly felt strange and squeaked as pain shot through their tiny bodies. They both collapsed onto the ground, seemingly dead.

Dr. Wendish peeked over the fence and whooped with joy. “It’s worked! My genetically modified rabbit killing lettuce worked!” He did a jerky little dance over to the potting shed, picked up the Whacker and said, “You may get to retire yet, my little friend.”

But Wendish had jumped to conclusions too quickly. On the other side of the fence, something bizarre was taking place. The two rabbits were growing at an astonishing rate. Within a matter of minutes, their size and weight had tripled until they were the size of Collies. The mutant rabbits slowly regained consciousness and groggily rolled upright. They shook their heads and were momentarily shocked to discover that the ground was a lot farther away than they’d remembered. Rabbits are simple creatures, so this strange revelation really didn’t bother them. There’s generally only two things rabbits want from life. The first is to eat (a lot). The second is to make more rabbits (a lot more).

After the last foggy traces left their brains, the two rabbits looked at the hole under the fence, then at each other. They were still pretty full from their earlier binge, so they mutually decided to engage in the second thing that rabbits like to do best. Later that night, the female was rather surprised to discover another strange effect of being a mutant as the rabbit population suddenly increased by thirty-six.

Dr. Wendish arose early the next morning. He was still grinning from ear to ear over the presumed success of his rabbit-killing lettuce experiment. He picked the kettle up off the stove for his morning tea as he entered the kitchen and moved over to the sink. Wendish glanced out the window that overlooked the garden as he waited for the kettle to fill, and then looked again. The kettle dropped into the sink with a resounding clang and his mouth gaped open at the sight that filled the garden.

Rabbits, dozens and dozens of them. Most of them were the size of house cats, but two were much, much larger. They were decimating the garden, eating everything in sight.

Wendish screamed in anger and grabbed a broom as he ran out the back door, his purple and brown striped bathrobe flapping behind him. He shrieked curse after curse as he waved the broom madly at the contingent of long-eared rodents. The smaller rabbits scattered immediately, racing for the enlarged hole under the fence. But the two larger rabbits narrowed their beady eyes at the angry scientist and hopped towards him, noses twitching menacingly.

Dr. Wendish backed slowly away from the big rabbits and back into the safety of the house. The rabbits returned to gorging themselves on his vegetables the minute he shut the door. Wendish leaned against the back door, trembling in shock and anger. What had he done? He’d created mutant bunnies! His eyes narrowed determinedly as he suddenly knew what he had to do. Marching into the living room, he pulled his father’s shotgun off its reserved space above the fireplace. He quickly loaded the gun and returned to the back door.

He slowly counted to three, flung the door open, and began firing at anything that hopped. “Take that you gol-durned mutant rabbits!” he shrieked as bunny after bunny perished from the onslaught of his gun. It was over within minutes and Wendish leaned against the doorframe, exhausted, as he surveyed the carnage. Rabbit carcasses littered what was left of the garden.

Nodding in satisfaction, he returned the gun to his proper place. It occurred to him that the rabbits would make good eating and he could probably get a fair bit of money if he sold the meat at the farmer’s market where he sometimes sold his vegetables. At the very least, he could use the profits to replace all the vegetables that the animals had eaten and probably have enough left over to replace his unreliable wooden fence with a concrete wall. He spent the rest of the day gathering up the bodies and preparing them to be sold. He celebrated his good fortune by making a tasty rabbit stew for his dinner while his wife was out playing Canasta with her friends.

Dr. Wendish opened his eyes and made a face. Why on earth was the clock ticking so loudly? Grumbling, he sat up, rolled out of bed, and picked up his hearing aid. His hand was halfway to his ear when he realized he hadn’t been able to hear the clock in years without the device. He was practically deaf without it. He put the hearing aid down and turned to his slumbering wife. “Wake up,” he said impatiently. “I said wake up!”

His wife muttered something unintelligible and opened her eyes. Seeing that he didn’t have his hearing aid on, she rolled back over. Dr. Wendish reached out and shook her. “What do want?” she grouched at him. “It’s no use talking to you until you’ve got your aid in, you daft old man.”

“Who’re you calling daft, woman?” he asked.

Mrs. Wendish’s eyes flew open and she flipped over and stared at him. Nope, he definitely wasn’t wearing his hearing aid. “How come you can hear me?” she demanded.

Wendish grinned and said, “I dunno, but I woke up this morning and I can hear clear as a bell!” He grabbed the remote control and flipped the television on. The sounds of “Dukes of Hazzard” filled the room and he whooped with glee as the General Lee flew across the screen, sounding its horn. “Ain’t heard that in years!” he chortled. He got up and danced around the room with the energy of a man half his age. “I feel like I could run a marathon and win! Ain’t felt like this since I was twenty years old!”

His wife was just staring at him as if he’d grown two heads. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, a hint of fear in her voice. “’Ain’t like you to dance around in your jammies like there was ants in ‘em. Did the doc change your heart medicine or somethin’?”

“Nope! I think it must’ve been that rabbit I had last night for dinner.”

“What? All them pounds and pounds of dead rabbit meat in the chest freezer?” she asked. “I was going to ask how you come by those.”

“I’ll tell you about that later,” he answered. His wife was a sensitive soul and he knew she wouldn’t react well to his slaughter of the mutant rabbits from the day before. He wasn’t even sure that she’d believe him. “I gotta go, sweetcheeks. Farmer’s market ain’t gonna stay closed because I’m not there.” He bent down and kissed her cheek. A desire that he hadn’t felt in several years coursed through him and he looked intently at his wife, a knowing look glinting in his eye. “Baby…”

His wife had seen that look many, many times before, but not in recent years. She raised an eyebrow at him. “You gotta be kidding me, Chester Wendish!” she said indignantly. “A man of your age and…” her admonishments were cut off by a passionate kiss. She pushed him away forcefully. “You go on and get to that market!” she practically shouted. “And leave your poor old wife alone! I’m calling the doctor because there’s something wrong with you!”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with me!” he replied merrily as he headed to the closet to fetch his clothes. Not only did he have the energy of a young man, he seemed to have the libido of one as well and that was something he didn’t have a problem with at all. He imagined growing more genetically modified lettuce and setting up enormous hutches where the garden used to be so he could breed mutant rabbits. Forget gardening. This was going to be a more highly profitable and enjoyable retirement project! Those rabbits were amazing! He’d market to athletes, people with hearing problems, and men who wanted to add some more spice to their love lives…

He grabbed some clothes, took off his pajamas, and headed back into the bedroom. As he turned to pull on his pants, he heard a frightened squawk come from his wife. He turned his head and saw Mrs. Wendish staring at him. “What is it now, woman?” he asked impatiently.

She swallowed once and then pointed at his backside. “Check your behind,” she said very slowly.

“Why?” He moved over to the mirror above the dresser and turned so he could the backside of himself. A large, cottony white tail puffed up from the waistband of his boxer shorts.

In the meadow on the other side of the fence, the few survivors of the prior day’s holocaust pricked their ears up at the sound of a terrified scream that came from the direction of Dr. Wendish’s upstairs bedroom. They wiggled their enormous noses in confusion and then hopped away, unconcerned. The smells of a nearby berry bush wafted temptingly on the breeze and they were not bothered in the slightest by the horrified shrieks of a frustrated retired scientist who only wanted to keep them out of his garden.