Getting an earful

Kevin Libin, National Post
Published: Saturday, March 17, 2007

CANMORE, Alta. - Snuggled in the Bow Valley, in the shadow of Alberta's Rockies, Canmorites learn to live alongside wildlife. It's not unheard of to meet an elk browsing shop windows on Railway Avenue. Occasionally, a bear trundles into town to stir up excitement. And everyone knows that cats not home by sundown are fair game for peckish coyotes.

But no species has adapted to life here better than the bunny. Thousands of them have overwhelmed Canmore. In some areas, they roam unfettered, chewing up shrubs and flowers, burrowing under garages and dropping pellets in such quantity that some lawns, from a distance, appear carpeted in a dark, loamy berber rug. Still, their most infuriatingly adaptive quality is being so crushingly adorable that few humans can steel themselves to harm a hair on their fluffy little heads. Until now.

Many Canmorites, lovers of nature by definition, have had enough of the varmint plague. "Terminate them," says Peter Withington, coldly, just out of earshot of a fuzzy bunny, sniffing his way around a nearby lawn. Cuddly or not, Mr. Withington says, the situation is out of hand.

Whether his neighbours are willing to go that far is what the town hopes to find out. "People call and complain and say, 'They're eating my plants, they're ruining my yard, somebody's got to do something,' and so it comes up at a council meeting. Then, the next week, a group of Grade 5s show up at the Mayor's office with a petition saying, 'Please don't hurt the rabbits,' " says Sally Caudill, Canmore's communications and environmental care co-ordinator. "It's a very political issue."

Last week, Canmore began issuing residents a survey. In addition to asking them to rate their level of alarm, and list any anti-rabbit measures they take at home, it asked whether they "support euthanasia as a means of rabbit control."

Canmorites have until month's end to register their opinions, but one town employee estimates the results currently running 50-50 -- "with maybe a bit more in favour of saving them."

Talk to folks in south Canmore, the heart of the beasts' lair, where fortresses of chicken wire encircle every garden and where opinion seems in favour of toppling the rabbits' reign.

For as long as 30 years, the invaders have made themselves at home here, the result of pet owners having released their unwanted pet charges into the wild.

So prolific are they that the valley's foxes, coyotes, cougars and raptors have failed to suppress their numbers. There is no official count, but some estimate that as many as 3,000 roam the town. If nothing is done, residents know next year will bring more.

"They don't belong here," says Tom Martin, owner of Hogs and Quiches Bed and Breakfast, who has lost a fortune in landscaping to the ravenous lagomorphs. "I feel sorry for the little critters. And if they were an indigenous species, it would be, like, 'So what? We're living in their territory.' But they're only domestic bunnies that have gone feral."

If this were an infestation of creatures less lovable, such as mice, many agree they would already be dead.

But exactly what can be done is a mystery. Australia, which has battled non-indigenous rabbits since they were introduced in the 19th century, has tried everything from engineering fatal bunny viruses to stretching fences from coast to coast. Nothing has worked.

Poison is out of the question with kids and pets nearby, Ms. Caudill says. Hunting is just as dangerous, and residents were traumatized last year when an anonymous "Rabbit Renegade" prowled the night, shooting bunnies and leaving bloodied corpses for horrified children to find on their way to school. And the town lacks the equipment or manpower for a massive trapping operation.

Ever since word of the scourge began spreading, Mayor Ron Casey has fielded ideas from around the world. From New Hampshire, one bird enthusiast suggested he host a falconing convention, promising a tourist boom and a quick end to the rabbits. From Africa, a chef e-mailed Mr. Casey asking, if Canmore was going to kill the rabbits, could they be shipped to Tanzania for stew? "In Africa, meat doesn't go to waste," the cook wrote.

But a rabbit massacre has risks: Area carnivores, wondering what happened to their bunny buffet, might bring their appetites into town.

The quintessential civic booster, Mr. Casey is more thrilled about the international attention than worried about rabbits -- though he lives in the worst affected area.

"It's a great advertising tool," he laughs. "There's pictures of Canmore now being transmitted around the world." He admits, though, that the coverage risks souring should the town resort to violence--one reason he hopes for a less drastic resolution. "We have learned to live with grizzly bears and cougars and elk and dee r," he says. "We can live with rabbits."

It would be terrible, he adds, if Canmore's reputation for neighbourliness with nature were ruined, like so many gardens and lawns, by an unstoppable horde of rabbits.