The Toad and the Bunnies

The Toad and the Bunnies

A couple of years ago my wife and I were doing a little landscaping work in the beds around my patio. I drove a shovel into the base of an ornamental grass plant I wanted to move and as I began to pry the clump out of the ground, she yelled, “Stop!” She’d noticed something moving and was pointing toward it. It took me a minute, but I finally saw the toad.

At first glance he was okay, just scrambling to get out of the way. I scooped him up intending to place him somewhere safe when I noticed his legs. One was completely gone below his little toad knee, the other badly mangled and partially severed. He’d been trying to pull himself away with his front legs.

As I held the toad and processed what happened, I was filled with horror. “Oh my God. What did I do?” I asked in disbelief as the tears welling in my eyes began to spill freely down my face. I didn’t panic, but I didn’t know what to do. He was badly injured, probably in pain, and definitely terrified. I knew he needed to be put out of his misery but the only methods I could think of were violent and I simply couldn’t do it.

Time slowed down and sped up at the same time as the misery took hold and I searched my mind frantically for answers. I felt urgency to help but was helpless. I searched Google for humane ways to euthanize him, but the only thing I remember seeing was a suggestion to put him in the freezer. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I snarled as I angrily wiped the tears away to see if I’d somehow misread it.

So you can understand my state of mind, I spent about 30 seconds thinking about putting him in the garbage disposal. I knew it would be quick, but it was a gruesome thought, and I put it out of my mind.

Now I was beginning to panic. I couldn’t control my tears, but I didn’t stop trying and that made things worse. I was on the clock and time was marching slowly. It had only been 3 or 4 minutes, but it felt like hours as the guilt tightened its grip on me.

I watch the ballgame on the patio almost every evening and once it gets dark, I often see toads taking a shortcut from one bed to another. It happens so frequently the dogs don’t even pay attention anymore, but I always do. That patio is my place, and my toad friends are welcome. I liked that they enjoyed my patio too, and I’d give them updates on the game.

Now I leaned back in my chair desperately trying to figure out what to do. Finally, it occurred to me to take him to a nearby Nature Center where I knew they’d do what was best for him and be as compassionate as possible. I found a small box, filled it with grass and leaves, and climbed into the passenger seat of my wife’s car.

It was the worst car ride of my life. For the next 15 minutes we rode silently as I cried and occasionally lifted the lid to check on the toad and make myself even more miserable. I’d have been unhappy enough just to find an injured animal, but to have been the one that did the harm so overwhelmed me I couldn’t focus on anything else. I kept saying, mostly to myself, “I can’t believe I did this,” and to the toad, “I’m so sorry, buddy,” as I gently ran my finger along his back.

My poor wife was doing her best to console me and I was having none of it. I felt cornered by the guilt and grief, seeking a way out of my own skin. To flee. From my thoughts. I waited in the car for about 10 minutes while she took him in. I was numb. I’d held the hands of both my parents when they died, and the grief was nothing like this.

As we rode home and I cried as quietly as I could, my wife took my hand and I managed to mumble, “This can’t be about the toad.”
She looked over, a knowing warmth in her eyes. “No shit,” she agreed with a soft smile..

It was funny but I didn’t laugh.

That toad pops into my mind at random moments, always accompanied by a mental picture of him sitting in the box with his remaining leg twisted grotesquely, hanging by a thread. He didn’t move. He just sat there, and I could see him breathing, both of us waiting for the inevitable. And while the grief is not as sharp as it was in those first hours, it’s still raw and it almost always makes me cry if I don’t catch myself and try to put it out of my mind.

---

Last night I couldn’t get the dogs to come in. It was very dark, and they were very quiet. At this point I was merely irritated as I just wanted to get them in and go to bed. As I stepped onto the patio I glanced to my right, through the arborvitae and into a small bed my wife had planted with wildflowers which were just beginning to bloom.

The dogs are white so even in the dark they were easy to spot. They were both in the bed, their faces buried in the dirt and I could tell most of the flowers were gone. “Oh no!” I spat out as I ran to the bed. This time I was in full panic mode. I knew it was going to be bunnies. I just hoped I wasn’t too late.

I was.

I pulled the first dog’s face out of the dirt, and I could see he had something. I got him to the top step of the patio and in the light, I could now see two small legs protruding from his mouth. I forced his mouth open, and the baby bunny landed on the top step, motionless. I looked at him lying there and the only thing that overpowered my grief and allowed me to function was the rage.

I put the dog inside and went to find his brother. That one also appeared to have something in his mouth, but he took off before I could tell for sure. I chased him to the other side of the yard, the sweat and the tears and the dew soaking me from head to toe. “Goddamnit, get the fuck out of there,” I screamed, more a desperate plea to stop the carnage than anything else, as I spotted him back in the bed.

This time I caught him, mouth empty, and stepped over the dead bunny as I carried him inside.

I wanted to deal with the bunny on the step, but both dogs’ faces and paws were caked with mud. I love my dogs and am always gentle with them, but now I was a little more forceful than I otherwise would have been as I scrubbed them with a wet towel. That job finished, I told them to get the fuck out of my sight and chased them upstairs.

Now I grabbed a handful of paper towels, took off my shirt and sat down at the kitchen table as I dried myself off. I was in that surreal dimension again, feeling disconnected from time and space. What was I going to do with that poor baby bunny? I didn’t want to bury it only to be dug up by another animal or one of my dogs, and it’s been about 100 degrees all week long, so I didn’t want him to rot in a trash bag in my garage.

I decided to take him to the park across the street and put him in the trash there. I grabbed some more paper towels and a plastic zip lock bag and stepped back out onto the patio. I sat down beside him and picked him up to make sure he was dead. He was. But he was warm.

I’ve always associated warmth with comfort. A sunny summer day, a cozy blanket on the couch in the wintertime. The embrace of my wife.

The warmth was shocking, unexpected and broke my heart.

I felt no comfort now, nor could I provide any. I stroked his head with my finger and through my tears I told him how sorry I was. I turned him over in my hand and saw the wounds my dog had inflicted, and I can’t even describe the sadness. I wrapped him in the paper towels, placed him in the bag and took him to the park.

---

It was dark and I couldn’t bear to go back outside and survey the scene. I slept like shit and woke up with a sense of foreboding. I went through my morning routine, fed the cat, started my coffee and had a smoke in the garage.

It was about 6:15 and I left my coffee on the table as I went outside to assess the damage in the bed. My wife had been trying to get anything to grow in this bed for years and seemed to have hit the jackpot this summer with the wildflowers. Now they were all gone and a large hole filled the center of the bed where my dogs had dug out the nest.

Having surveyed the big picture, I now started to look around more carefully and noticed him right away. He was lying on his side on a mound of dirt the dogs had excavated. It looked oddly like a battle scene from a movie with a solitary dead soldier lying among the ruins.

Only this soldier wasn’t dead.

I saw him move and I froze. Now he moved again, turning his head a little and trying to pull himself forward with his front feet. I could tell he was feeling the bunny version of fear and abandonment and was searching for comfort. I picked him up and held him in my hands.

His eyes were still closed, and he kept making the same reaching motions with his feet and nose. He was hungry too, I realized.

I sat there in the dirt, holding the bunny, and sobbed in the early morning heat.

Now the toad was back in my head, and I wanted to scream.

Again, with the paper towels. Again, with the box.

The Nature Center didn’t open till 9AM, so I taped a note to the lid of the box, reading “Please help him.”

I drove myself hoping I’d get back before my wife woke up.

I fantasized they’d somehow be able to save him. But it was the same ride with the same inevitable end.

This time I had to take him up myself. The Center wouldn’t open for another couple of hours, so I left the box in front of the door, turned around and walked back to the car.

I drove home in silence, allowing scenes from the night before to play through my mind, occasionally flashing back to the toad. Obviously.

I was in this slightly disconnected state I sometimes get in, a kind of parallel dimension allowing muscle memory to handle the drive home while I let myself float along in the reality of the bunnies and the toad.

---

My wife was sitting at the table having a cup of coffee when I walked in.

“Where were…” She looked, and whatever she saw made her stop. “Are you okay?”

I told her the story, leaving out as much detail as possible. But she knew. She came over to give me a hug, which I never know I need until I get.

She also knew I’d been seeing Sarah, this time on my own, and that as awkward as it all was for me, I was trying to follow her advice. As I’d talked things through with my wife lately, I’d mentioned that I ask myself “What would Sarah say?” as I considered how to deal with a variety of things.

Now she said it to me:
“I bet you’re asking yourself what would Sarah say?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, and she better have some fucking answers for me,” I stammered in not entirely faux anger.

She let out a little laugh. I held her a little tighter.