OK, so I paid someone to do it, but the end result is the same: the rabbit’s dead.
We got up at the insanely early hour of 7:30 this morning to go jogging. Whoever thought it was a good idea to go jogging first thing in the morning is certifiable, I can tell you that. But with my husband’s new contract position being 45 minutes away, concessions had to be made to our schedule.
So we start jogging. I can barely figure out how to move my feet in a proper forward momentum, plus it stormed last night and there were puddles and mud everywhere, but I managed to keep from landing on my face. We turned the first block, and what do we see on the curb but a rabbit. It’s just sitting there, not moving, as we get closer. We get right next to it. It doesn’t move. We nudge it with our feet to try to get it to move out of the road, but it still doesn’t move. It’s on the shoulder, out of the road, so we continue on. We figure it had probably gotten hit by a car or maybe attacked by a dog.
We discuss what to do about it and decide that after our run, we would return with the cat carrier and get it. Our plan was to keep it on the back porch until tomorrow morning, when I would take it to the vet and see whether it should be fixed up or put to sleep.
We run. I hate running. Did I mention that? We get back home, grab the truck, cat carrier and a towel, and go to hunt da wabbit. It hasn’t moved. Hubby uses the towel to get the rabbit into the carrier and that’s when we see the blood. And the mangled back foot. So we decide that I would go ahead and take it to the vet to be put down while he finished getting ready for work.
So that’s what I did. We’re pretty sure it wasn’t someone’s pet. The people at the vet’s office looked at it and agreed it was likely a wild rabbit (we have a surprising number of wild animals for living in the suburbs eight miles from downtown Fort Worth).
By the way, that was an expensive jog.