Coming soon to a lawn near you: Bunny Tales

We had so many reader responses last week in our quest for rabbit anecdotes that we couldn’t fit them all into Thursday’s paper. So today Exit 289 gives you “Cotton Tales: the Spokane Rabbit Diaries.”

Silas Bates, of Spokane Valley, was one of three people who traced the origins of the diminutive, rust-colored bunnies along the Centennial Trail to a hunting dog club that once met on the north bank of the Spokane River.

“The little rabbits that we have in the Valley, all over in North Idaho, too, are not native to this area,” Bates said. “I understand that a beagle club imported them to an area west of the Kaiser Plant. I am not sure, but I have been told they are from Hungary. They are a dwarf, quite small, rabbit, and the beagle club wanted them because they would run in a small circle and the club only had a limited area.”

Bates heard the story about the rabbits from a former groundskeeper at Kaiser Aluminum’s Trentwood rolling mill. Kaiser leased some ground between the river and the mill to a beagle club several years ago.

Kathy Blanch became the bunny lady of the Foothills area several years ago after offering a carrot to a long-eared visitor. Of course, word got out and soon other rabbits were on Blanch’s doorstep. Some even traveled by car.

“As time went on, people saw that I had bunnies running around and then I had people dropping off bunnies in cages in front of our garage,” Blanch said. “We named them and they became part of the farm.”

Over the last 20 years, Blanch has farmed out some of the bunnies to neighbors, by request only. The local coyotes also keep her rabbit population in check.

Rabbits run amok when coyotes aren’t present, said Jon Coffin, of Otis Orchards. Many people told us a lack of coyotes and owls spurred the healthy rabbit population, but Coffin’s tale was gruesome.

Back in 1981 Coffin and his wife, both educators, accepted teaching jobs on the Snake River plain of Southern Idaho. The plain was sheep ranching country, and for economic reasons ranchers there had practically eliminated coyotes. Rabbits spread unchecked like locusts.

“The highways were literally paved with rabbit carcasses,” Coffin said. “They ran in waves through the fields and through the lawns. Everywhere you looked there were rabbits. It was like a plague.”

Rabbits ruined the local hay industry by burrowing and pooping in hay bales, which made the crop useless for feeding livestock.

Locals tried shooting at the animals, but bullets were expensive. The animals were driven into holes, which were tarped with plastic, then fumigated with vehicle exhaust. Nothing worked.

The community’s final solution was to gather after church on Sundays, form a line of motorized vehicles and corner the animals into a two-sided fence. The trapped animals were clubbed to death.

The eradication took place during the winter time. The rabbits’ frozen carcasses were gathered and sold as feed to a mink farm. Money from the sale was donated to the two-room school to be spent by the Coffins, who were repulsed by the whole affair.

“I understand that eventually the rabbits developed some sort of disease that killed off their excess population. But that didn’t happen right away – and there’s the rub,” Coffin said. “As I look back, I don’t really know of another method of eliminating the rabbit population. So when I look out at my yard and see a couple of cute little bunnies eating my lilies I really don’t get too concerned.

“And I hope I never hear of another rabbit drive as long as I live.”