Robot Bunnies Are Being Deployed in Florida to Fight Invasive Pythons

In the stillness of the Everglades, danger often moves unseen. Beneath the swaying sawgrass and mirrored wetlands, a predator coils in silence longer than a pickup truck, heavier than a grown man, and capable of swallowing a deer whole. Over the past four decades, the Burmese python has transformed this subtropical wilderness from a tapestry of native life into a hunting ground stripped of balance. Raccoon numbers have plunged by more than 99%, marsh rabbits have vanished from wide swaths of their former range, and even bobcats and foxes are rare sightings where they once roamed freely.

For years, scientists and hunters have waged a slow, grinding war against these stealthy invaders. Trained dogs have sniffed them out, GPS collars on prey have led hunters to their lairs, and competitive hunts have brought in thousands. Yet most snakes slip through unnoticed hidden by camouflage so perfect that, in some surveys, only one to three out of every hundred are ever spotted.

Now, in an unlikely twist, the fight has taken a playful-looking turn. Scattered in secret locations across South Florida are forty furry, solar-powered decoys mechanical marsh rabbits that twitch, radiate warmth, and wait. They’re not children’s toys, but carefully engineered bait designed to lure one of the Everglades’ most elusive killers into the open. In a battle where every captured python matters, these “robo-bunnies” might just become the hunters that never sleep.

Florida’s Fight So Far: Tools, Trials, and Limitations

Florida has not been idle in its battle against the Burmese python. Over the past decade, the state has assembled a patchwork arsenal of hunters, technology, and creative tactics to chip away at the snake’s numbers. Some efforts lean on brute manpower, others on precision tools designed to exploit the python’s habits. All share a common challenge: the snakes’ remarkable ability to stay hidden.

The Florida Python Challenge, a 10-day competition that draws hunters from across the country, is perhaps the most visible symbol of the fight. Cash prizes are awarded for the longest and most pythons captured, creating a surge of activity each summer. Outside of the spotlight, the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) and the South Florida Water Management District employ about 100 contracted hunters year-round, paying hourly wages plus bonuses for large snakes. Since 2019, these professionals have removed nearly 16,000 pythons a record by any standard, yet still a fraction of the total population.

Technology has brought its own innovations. Detector dogs, trained to pick up the reptiles’ scent, have joined field teams since 2020. Scout snakes radio-tagged males are released to lead trackers to egg-laying females. In some cases, researchers have fitted GPS collars to prey animals such as raccoons and rabbits; when the signal stops moving, hunters know a python may be digesting its last meal nearby. A 2022 University of Florida study demonstrated the method’s potential: nine live rabbits in pens lured 22 pythons over a 90-day period, with many snakes lingering for more than an hour.

These strategies have delivered measurable wins, but they also come with drawbacks. Caring for live bait in remote, waterlogged terrain is expensive and labor-intensive. Human search teams tire, and detector dogs need rest. Even the most determined hunter can walk within feet of a python without noticing it. With detection rates as low as 1% to 3%, most snakes remain untouched. As scientists and managers see it, each method is a tool not a solution. To tip the balance, Florida needs an approach that can work continuously, in difficult terrain, without relying on the limits of human endurance or the care of living animals.

Birth of the Robo-Bunny

University of Florida wildlife ecologist Robert McCleery already knew that pythons had a weakness for marsh rabbits. In 2022, he and his team tested live rabbits in pens as bait. The results were clear snakes approached regularly, sometimes within days but the logistics were daunting. Caring for live prey in the Everglades meant daily feeding trips, veterinary oversight, and hauling supplies through mud, water, and oppressive heat. The ethical concerns of using live animals were another constant weight.

McCleery began discussing alternatives with colleague Chris Dutton, an ecology professor with a knack for mechanical tinkering. Together, they envisioned a decoy that could look, feel, and “behave” enough like a marsh rabbit to fool a python, without the complications of live animal care. The solution came from an unlikely starting point: plush toy rabbits bought off a store shelf.

The transformation was meticulous. The toy stuffing was replaced with more than 30 electronic components tiny motors to mimic subtle movements, a solar-powered heater to match the body warmth of a living rabbit, and a waterproof casing tough enough to endure rain, humidity, and the occasional splash from swamp water. A motion-activated camera was embedded in each decoy, programmed to recognize the distinctive slither of a python and send an instant alert to researchers. If visual and thermal cues weren’t enough, a synthetic “rabbit scent” could be added to increase the lure’s appeal.

By mid-2025, forty of these mechanical marsh rabbits were ready for deployment. Their exact locations remain undisclosed, both to protect the experiment and to prevent tampering. Stationed in python-rich habitats, the robo-bunnies can operate day and night, drawing predators into the open while collecting valuable behavioral data. Unlike human hunters, they don’t tire, take breaks, or require food. And unlike live bait, they can be switched on and off at will, responding only when conditions are most favorable for a strike.

How the Robo-Bunny Fits Into the Bigger Picture

In Florida’s python war, the robo-bunny is not a silver bullet it’s a specialist in a larger, evolving toolkit. Its greatest strength lies in its ability to operate where and when human hunters can’t. Stationed deep in wetlands or tucked into remote marshes, the decoys work around the clock, waiting silently in prime python habitat. By combining lure, surveillance, and early-warning system in a single package, each unit becomes both a trap and a field researcher.

The camera and motion sensor data add a new dimension to snake control. Every time a python approaches a robo-bunny, the system records patterns time of day, weather conditions, even subtle behaviors that can help refine future removal strategies. If a decoy’s alert triggers a rapid response from nearby hunters, it turns from passive observer to active participant in a capture. In theory, these alerts could be integrated into a statewide monitoring network, directing resources to hotspots in real time.

This adaptability extends beyond the Everglades. If proven effective, the technology could be scaled to hundreds of units and modified for other invasive species: scent-emitting “prey” to draw feral cats away from seabird nesting grounds, robotic fish to lure invasive predators on coral reefs, or tailored decoys for specific threats in fragile island ecosystems. The principle mimic natural prey, attract the predator, and pair it with real-time monitoring can be applied anywhere that targeted, non-invasive control is needed.

Funding from the South Florida Water Management District and the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission has kept the current project running, but wider adoption would require weighing production costs against capture success rates. Still, for conservationists, the robo-bunny represents more than a gadget it’s a proof of concept. It shows that technology, when guided by ecological insight, can open new avenues in wildlife management. In a fight where every python removed gives native species a little more breathing room, that’s a powerful proposition.

Challenges and Practical Considerations

For all its promise, the robo-bunny project faces hurdles that will determine whether it becomes a niche experiment or a scalable conservation tool. The first challenge is technological durability. South Florida’s wetlands are punishing environments solar panels must function under cloudy skies, electronic components need to survive constant humidity, and waterproofing has to endure not just rain, but prolonged immersion in warm, sediment-laden water. Even minor malfunctions could render a unit useless for weeks until it can be retrieved and repaired.

Cost is another factor. Each decoy contains over 30 specialized components, from heaters to motion-sensing cameras, all of which require assembly, testing, and maintenance. Scaling production from dozens to hundreds or thousands of units would require significant investment. Those expenses must be weighed against their capture success rate; in a conservation budget where funding is finite, decision-makers will compare the cost-per-python removed with other methods like bounty programs or detector dogs.

Security is also a concern. The devices are intentionally deployed in undisclosed locations to avoid tampering or theft. But in a landscape that also attracts hunters, hikers, and airboat tours, there’s always a risk that someone could stumble upon or even damage a decoy.

There’s the question of effectiveness over time. Pythons, like many predators, can learn from failed hunts. If a snake approaches a decoy but escapes a capture attempt, it may begin to avoid similar targets in the future. Researchers will need to study whether repeated exposure reduces the lures’ appeal, and if scent, movement patterns, or other modifications can refresh their effectiveness.

Finally, while the robo-bunnies sidestep the ethical dilemmas of using live bait, they’re still part of a program that ends in euthanasia for the snakes. For wildlife managers, balancing humane practices with ecological necessity is a constant, often uneasy, reality. The Everglades’ restoration will hinge not on a single tool, but on a sustained mix of methods each with its own strengths, limitations, and place in the broader strategy.

Lessons for Global Conservation

Florida’s robo-bunny experiment is more than a clever local fix it’s a case study in how technology and ecology can converge to tackle one of conservation’s thorniest challenges: invasive species. The Burmese python’s takeover of the Everglades mirrors countless ecological crises worldwide. In Australia, cane toads poison native predators that try to eat them. Across the Caribbean, lionfish strip coral reefs of small fish essential to reef health. On islands from Hawaii to New Zealand, invasive rats and feral cats decimate seabird populations. Each case shares a common thread: once an invasive species becomes entrenched, complete eradication is rarely possible with traditional tools alone.

What makes the robo-bunny significant is not just its novelty, but its adaptability. The underlying principle mimicking natural prey to draw predators into monitored zones can be tailored to different habitats and species. In theory, scent-emitting land decoys could divert feral cats from vulnerable nesting sites, robotic fish could lure predatory invaders in reef systems, and thermal or motion-based lures could be used in forests to attract invasive mammals. The hardware could change, but the strategy remains consistent: meet the invader on its own terms, using biology as the blueprint and engineering as the execution.

The project also underscores a critical but often overlooked truth: prevention is more effective than eradication. The Burmese python crisis began with human choices importing exotic pets without safeguards, releasing unwanted animals into the wild. Many other invasions, from European starlings in North America to Asian carp in U.S. rivers, began in similar ways. As climate change alters habitats and trade routes remain global, the opportunities for new invasions will only grow.

A New Chapter in Wildlife Protection

In the Everglades, the quiet rustle of sawgrass once signaled the movements of marsh rabbits, bobcats, and countless other native creatures. Today, it often hides the slow, sinuous advance of a predator that doesn’t belong. The Burmese python invasion is a reminder that human actions whether through trade, neglect, or indifference can reshape entire ecosystems in a matter of decades. But it’s also a testament to how human creativity can push back.

The robo-bunny project may seem whimsical at first glance: plush toys armed with heaters, motors, and cameras, scattered in the swamps. Yet behind the fur and wiring is a carefully engineered solution born of years of fieldwork, ecological insight, and an unwillingness to accept that nothing more can be done. It proves that conservation is no longer confined to boots and binoculars it now includes circuit boards, solar panels, and scent chemistry.

The challenges ahead are steep. Pythons will not vanish overnight, and no single tool can undo their impact. But every capture gives the Everglades’ native species a little more room to recover. And every inventive leap from robotic decoys to global prevention strategies brings us closer to restoring balance.

In the end, saving wild places will depend on our willingness to think as boldly as we act. If a stuffed rabbit can help turn the tide against an apex predator, then perhaps the most important thing we can protect is not just biodiversity, but our own capacity for innovation.