The sport of Kaninhop originated in Sweden in 1980. Over the next two decades it hurdled national borders into Norway, Denmark, Finland, and England. Germany leapt on board at the start of the new millennium. And in 2001, Linda Hoover of Eugene officially launched the sport in the United States when she founded the Rabbit Hopping Organization of America.
Stifle that snicker, silly wabbit! Think competitive show horse jumping in miniature—without the saddles or riders.
“Some rabbits catch on right away,” says Hoover. “Others are shy, or more hyperactive. They jump, but out of necessity—usually to get away from something. Instinctively, they run in zigzag patterns. We’re actually teaching them to go in a straight line.”
Most of Hoover’s efforts promoting rabbit hopping have been accomplished through 4-H clubs. She has helped establish Kaninhop programs across the nation, but her most earnest work has involved tutoring local kids in the sport. “When you get a whole bunch of kids together for this, it’s absolutely mad,” Hoover says. “They go out of control with excitement. They don’t realize there’s all this groundwork to do first.”
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Once bunnies have learned the basics of Kaninhop, most scurry into the competitive arena to leap over obstacles of differing heights within a specified time frame. They usually wear a custom leash, and their human handlers trail behind as they navigate a series of jumps. There are straight-line courses and wandering courses. Hurdles generally range from several inches high to about 2 feet. Winners are determined through elimination based on jump refusals and missed hurdles.
The world of Kaninhop also includes specialty hoppers—rabbits with a bent for high jumping and long jumping. Swedish-raised bunnies tend to dominate the specialty categories, with the reigning high jump record holder having cleared 39.2 inches and the long jump champ conquering a distance of nearly 11 feet.
Kaninhop has its detractors, but Hoover says it’s only because critics don‘t realize how much bunnies enjoy the sport. As Hoover told National Geographic News several years back: “Rabbits show excitement in different ways. Some hop straight up in the air after going through jumps. Others turn circles and stomp the ground. Some rabbits go ’round and ’round their owner’s legs and grunt. These are signs of total excitement in the rabbit world.”
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Pride and sensibility
The English Regency period was barely a shuffle-step in the grand march of European history—a mere 20-year transition from garish 18th century Baroque traditions to the puffy-sleeved morality of 19th century Victorians. Given that fact, it’s striking how strong a hold Regency-era novelist Jane Austen has on our sometimes jaded postmodern culture.
Thea Peck is president of the Central Valley Chapter of the Oregon Regency Society (ORS), a local organization whose schedule of social events boasts participation by several hundred regional residents. “For most of us,” she says, “it’s about living out a fantasy of more genteel, more elegant times.”
Take, for example, the scene at a recent ORS picnic set among the rhododendrons of Eugene’s Hendricks Park: women sporting satin gloves and pastel taffeta gowns, their hair delicately coiffed and adorned with feathers; ladies dining demurely in small circles on the grass, with others engaging in spirited games of whist, or delicately tossing and catching floral garlands. Most, it seems, are not so much playing roles as embracing heartfelt personas.
Meanwhile, men garbed in waistcoats, breeches, and leggings stand at a distance, looking proud and stoic with their beaver hats and walking sticks. Some nibble hors d’oeuvres, some practice fencing moves, most pass the afternoon with surprisingly mannered conversation.
“When we get into our costumes and go to an event,” explains Peck, “though we don’t pretend to be other people, we act quite different than we do in our everyday lives. Our carriage, demeanor, even our way of speaking becomes much more dignified. It gives us a sense of being transported to a time when society’s rules were a little more rigid but there was also a lot more respect for one another.”
According to Peck, ORS activities are attended by folks from wide–ranging socio-economic and age groups. But bachelors take note: young, single women clearly find special appeal in the culture of Jane Austen, and they are well represented in the organization. Take, for example, one such damsel at a recent country dance who spoke so matter-of-factly when asked what drew her to the affair: “Oh, that’s easy. I came to meet my Mr. Darcy!”
She spoke, of course, of Austen’s most chivalrous fictional hero.
Information about ORS membership and events, including the October Harvest Ball in Eugene and the extravagant Annual Winter Ball in Portland, can be found at oregonregencysociety.com
Dinosaur Mountain
Eugene’s enigmatic Tyrannosaurus rex—preternaturally prehistoric, ferociously frivolous, carnivorously comic, a legendary predator stalking curious dual claims on our community: one on local, urban mythology; the other on a chunk of vacant public land alongside I-5 on an east-facing slope about a mile north of Lane Community College.
If you’re searching out the archeology of Eugene’s demon dinosaur, check with Demus Roberts. He knows the real story.
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“I guess you could call it sculpture,” suggests Roberts, a local businessman in the construction trades. Roberts confesses that he’s no artist but has “always wanted to be one.” In the summer of 2006, he created a wooden T. rex prototype as a project for a Cub Scout weekend campout. The experience inspired his highly visible hillside version.
“Basically, it’s a design I got off a little wood puzzle for kids,” Roberts recalls. “It was about 6 inches high, and I just blew it up bigger.”
Fearing sanction by authorities, Roberts and a buddy used the cover of darkness to haul the original dinosaur model up the eastern face of Moon Mountain. When local media started poking around the nearby neighborhood seeking information about the cold-blooded critter, knowing neighbors held their tongues.
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Extinction threatened T. rex in its first Eugene winter, when vandals scaled the steep slope, decapitated the dinosaur, and scattered its vertebrae across the snowy hillside. Roberts let the incident go unreported, still leery of official reaction. But he also rebuilt, then reinstalled the loathsome lizard—this time adding a larger head and more intimidating demeanor.
Three years into his Jurassic adventure, Roberts now feels emboldened by his predator’s staying power and the recognition it has garnered. He hints at plans for crafting a more fearsome diorama on the slope: “. . . maybe a couple other creatures—probably a stegosaurus.” Perhaps it’s time to rename the site Dinosaur Mountain.
“I’d miss it if it wasn’t there,” Roberts says, contemplating the legacy of his creation. “And I enjoy knowing that people are driving by on the freeway, and maybe they’re getting bored, and they’re sitting there looking around and they might go, ‘Hey look at that dinosaur up there on the hill!’ I think that’s what I most get from it!”
A Tail of Four Paws Fostering dogs and cats for Greenhill Humane Society By Vanessa Salvia
When Renee Watts got her first foster dog, Gordy, a chow mix, he was only supposed to be with her for three weeks. Gordy had torn a ligament in his knee, and Greenhill Humane Society arranged for him to have surgery at the veterinary school. “He was having a hard time staying off of it at the kennel,” says Watts, “so he came to live with me to recover. Three weeks turned into six weeks and by then I was in love, so he just stayed!” Watts recently fostered a little whippet mix named Sweetie, who liked people but was intimidated by the noise of the shelter. Sweetie was adopted right from Watts’ home, to minimize the stress from the kennel.
Greenhill finds families for more than 600 animals yearly through its foster parent program; about 100 local families take animals that aren’t quite ready for adoption. Some animals, like Gordy, are ill or injured and need a quiet, stress-free recovery place. Other animals need socialization or training to correct a behavioral quirk. Puppies and kittens are too young to be in the main adoption room; they’re susceptible to diseases if they haven’t received their two doses of inoculants, three weeks apart.
For the past three years, Watts, a dentist, has served as president of the Greenhill Humane Society board of directors. “I like being hands-on with animals,” Watts says. “I heard about the foster program and thought it would be great to have guest dogs come and live in my house. Board work is a lot of administrative things, and this helps me remember why we’re doing all this.”
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Watts has two dogs of her own, Gordy and Huckleberry, a 12-year-old chow, and has temporarily cared for 10 dogs, but there’s never enough people like Renee Watts, says Ashlee Dixon, Greenhill’s foster program coordinator. Foster arrangements last three to six weeks, and Greenhill provides medical care before the animal is placed. “They’re microchipped, de-flead, de-wormed, and at least partially vaccinated,” Dixon says.
Dixon says the need for foster families increases greatly during what’s known as kitten season—“basically May through September,” she says, the warm months when cats are more active and breeding. “They all have to go into foster if they haven’t had their first shots yet.” Midway into kitten season, Dixon had 73 cats and kittens in foster care. “We use a lot of our foster parents during kitten season!”
The Marr family is happy to be on that list. Jeannie Marr, her husband, Brian, and their children Kody, Kaylee, and Kyle have cared for 12 “batches” of kittens, most recently, a mom named Honeybunch and her five little fluffballs. Kaylee wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up, so Jeannie hopes this experience will help her determine if that path is right for her. The Marr children—and the many other kids on their busy block—love the kittens, and help out a lot, but Jeannie can no longer be sure if she’s fostering for her own sake or for that of the kids. “I enjoy it so much that if no one helped me I’d probably still do it,” she smiles, “but the kids do get a lot out of it.”
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The Marrs have one cat at home, but fostering “is our way of getting hugs and love and kisses because our cat is kind of anti-social!” laughs Jeannie. By fostering, you get to enjoy the kittens or puppies while they’re young—“They never grow up!“ enthuses Kaylee—and “if you’re traveling or whatever and you don’t want the animals for a while,” notes Jeannie, “you just decline and then get them again later.”
And, yes, you can’t help but get attached. “You’re sad to see them go, some more than others, but you always know there’s another batch,” Jeannie says. Renee Watts concurs. “I love them, but if I kept all of them I couldn’t continue to foster, so you just enjoy them for the time you have them.”
Greenhill Humane Society
88530 Green Hill Rd.
541/689-1503
green-hill.org
