I'm turning into Elmer Fudd.
With the new house comes a garden, which I adore more than I ever thought I would. I loved putting in a lawn, tearing up the wreck of a garden, and planting vegetables. I never knew that I'd feel pulled to the earth like that, longing to have dirt under my nails. Anyway, as much as I love the new nest, the new garden, I've inherited a few unwanted freeloaders.
We have rabbits.
And they aren't just rabbits, they're tame rabbits. They taunt me with there obvious disregard of our presence. They are so unconcerned about the humans of the house that many times this summer I've almost tripped over them. The chef and I used to toss pebbles at them, trying to scare them off. But the rabbits knew we didn't really mean them harm. They'd just twitch their noses and ears at us, inwardly laughing at our poor aim, and continue to chew on grass.
In the months that have passed since the rabbits first appeared, I haven't seen them eating anything other than grass and weeds. They haven't been in my vegetable garden yet, as far as I can tell. So for the moment, we're at a tenuous peace.
In fact I've named the three rabbits that live under our garden shed. The big one is Bugs, the middle one (which I think is the momma) is Bunny, and the baby rabbit is Bugsy. I know that there is no way that these three cute rabbits won't reproduce at alarming speeds, but at the moment, its just the three of them. And I can almost accept three rabbits.
After all, they are kind of cute? Aren't they?