I prefer herding/working dogs. Which is why we have a breeding pair of Red Heelers. But this is not to say I don’t like hunting dogs. I would love having a Bloodhound in the family. And Rusty. Our Golden Retriever is a total sweetheart/killing machine. Rusty is loyal, smart as all get out, and she backs down from nothing. She’s definitely one of the bravest dog I’ve known. Then there's Mouse. She’s an Italian Greyhound and the best mouser on the planet! What makes her so good is that she loves EATING rats and mice. Who needs a cat when you have a dog that can outrun one and doesn’t play with her food? She eats it. She has a job and she does it well. Which brings me to the reason for writing this. Our land is always being invaded, though not quite over-run, by rabbits. Bringing to mind the idea of raising some for meat and additional income. And, as luck would have it, my DW spotted one a few days ago that peaked her interest. I finally saw this juicy morsel and the hunt is on! Picture this: In my stealthiest crouch, I quickly flank it, moving around to the West, blocking its retreat. Using the greenhouse for cover, on all fours now, I move in. Phase one of my strategy is deception. In my sweetest forked-tongue speak, I spew at it, all manner of falsehood, fraudulence and disinformation. What happened next, though unexpected, shall be, from now on, my Secret Weapon. “Ooh, Papa’s got treats!” cried Ayla, the crazy Barred Rock as she ran over to eat this new goodie that Papa done brung just for her. “It looks delicious,” replied Beethoven, followed by two more Rocks and six Red Stars. Surrounded and outnumbered, having lost all hope, the rabbit resigned itself to at least die with its boots on. It charged the heathen hordes that were laying siege! Big mistake. That brought in the rest of the troops. The Orps to the North, one crazy Australorp to the East, and a band of psychotic guineas (a.k.a. The Goonies) flooding in from the South. All was lost. I picked it up. Sixty some odd dollars later, the rabbit, now known as King George VII, sits quietly enjoying some much needed pellets and some very welcome Timothy grass. Not so sure about that round, salty thing, though. The King has been dethroned! George, the Broken Rex, is in the B&R Ranch dungeon. There he shall reside until his reformation and indoctrination is complete. Then, at said time, shall he be set free-range with his captors that they might, once again, drool over him. So, Hunting-Chickens, not hunting chickens. What kinda nut hunts chickens? You’re weird. In the heat of battle! Victory! Based on a true story. Film at 11.