There’s a bunny that basically lives in our yard. I lovingly call it Bun Bun and squee in delight every time I run into it outside. After 10 months in New York, I got used to trash pandas, rats, and pigeons being the only animals I saw.
Now that I’m back in Michigan, it’s deer, bunnies, and skunks. I’m not too fond of that last one though.
It’s not like I spend my mornings like Cinderella, singing with the birds while they help me do chores. No, ours is a more you live here, I live here, so let’s just be cool and leave each other alone type of relationship.
Bun bun is easy enough to live with. I hang out in the hammock while she eats her grass a few feet away. She does make it hard to mow the lawn, as she watches me from afar. I can only imagine how freaked out she is. She must feel like the fairies in Ferngully when the machines start tearing down their tree homes.
I avert my eyes when cutting the grass.
The birds have been more high maintenance then Bun Bun. One built its nest in an electrical box. I sent maintenance to check it out because I didn’t know if there were wires there or not. Maintenance texted that it was fine, there were no wires.
When I got home, I found the box closed, in 90 degree heat. Maintenance are some cold faced killas.
My boyfriend and I reopened the box and found one of the baby birds upside down. We got a tissue box and my boyfriend attempted to move the nest and birds, not before dropping a couple. So we partially cooked the birds AND scrambled their brains.
Afterward we found out that its illegal to move a birds nest. But more importantly, if you move the nest, the mother will abandon it.
There was no way we could put it back, so we set the tissue box with the nest remains and birds on top of the electrical box. Last time I checked, the birds were gone and the nest cleared. But the electrician who came to install a new line may have killed them for all I know.
Mama bird must have spread the word of what we did, because a different bird chose to die on our patio.
I had to Google “dispose dead bird” to figure out what to do with it. One option is to call animal control to see if they want to come collect the bird and do weird tests. I couldn’t find a donor card on the bird so I went with option two which was to wrap it in a bag and throw it in the trash.
If I was a better person, like Michael Scott, I would have thrown it a funeral. But I’m not, so in the trash it went.
Bun Bun was surprisingly absent that day, so I didn’t have to avert my eyes.