Coming out the back door today I came across the big rabbit. I haven’t noticed many rabbits in the yard as there hasn’t been much here to munch. He turned up later in the fall when most of the leaves were already off the trees. He seems to live under my deck, which is a small rectangle off the back door with wide steps down to the brick patio. The sides of the deck are covered in right-angle trellis – square upon square next to square – and I’ve watched him slip under the bottom slat through a sliver of an opening that does not look as if it would accommodate a squirrel. (Though if a squirrel wanted in – whether he could slip under or not – he would gnaw his entry, even knowing he was unwanted there.)
The rabbit looks like a hare from a Chinese drawing, the type that you would see in a museum, with each curved hair of his coat defined, each whisker a distinct line. His body is full, though I don’t know if it’s fat or fluff. He is the size of designer bag carried by a woman who needs to announce either her rise or her arrival, depending on the indulgence of her spouse. If he stayed still for me to pick him up, I would need to use both hands. This is why his escape under the trellis is remarkable.
We’ve been running into one another quite a lot. I don’t know if he’s new to the neighborhood, or has just discovered the just-right shelter of my back stoop. Regardless, I like him. My arrival often causes him to startle, though his reaction is freeze and not flight. The sudden subtle movement of the tightening of his muscles makes me start and – embarrassingly – say, “Oh!”
When I recognize that it’s he I greet him in low tones. We both stay still and watch one another. I ask him about his day and if he has children and if he’s finding enough to eat now that the grass is brown. He’s too shy to reply, but has been raised well enough to not run off while I’m speaking.
I know a gardener who shoots pellets or some such things at the rabbits in his backyard. He is protecting his hosta and the new growth of his established garden. I hate the cruelty and futility of this. Last Spring, I mentioned it to my friend who is a master gardener. I expected her to reply in disgust, but instead she told me how she traps the chipmunks and baby rabbits in her yard and then drowns them in a large bucket.
“You do not!”
“Well, they could hold their breath,” she says with a shrug and a sideways smile.
My garden is new. Just this last year I planted lilac trees to flank the stoop. New hornbeams, that are nothing more than seven-foot tall sticks, stand sentry across the back fence gathering their forces to provide a screen to the house behind. I did not get the tulip bulbs planted, so there’s no worry of assault there.
There are a few hosta on the side of the house, but they are a part of a section that is a jumble as my neighbor removed a tree that has changed the light. They were noticeably shrinking by the end of the summer, the edges of their leaves brown and curled in upon themselves.
This is not what I see when I look at the yard. I see ferns by the feet of the faux bois bench and dozens of boxwoods stretching to make a low border around the beds. Hopefully by next year these fantasies will be reality, but for now they live only in my mind’s eye.
This is why the rabbit and I can be friends. The newness of my garden means there is no need for either of us to be hostile to one another. This may change. But for now, as I leave the house in the clear light of morning or come back as everything is in shadow, I look forward to seeing him. His feelings toward me are unknown.
Lovely, your writing and the bunny.
Thank you, Sloane.
When are you going to write that novel that we(your adoring fans)
are all waiting for!!
Iris, you are so kind. Let’s see if there is a longer work in me. Some days I think, yes. Others, I wonder if these snapshots are simply what I do.
Recommend low fence with sheathing underground so you and your new neighbor can enjoy the spring in peace – one with dandelion sprouts and the other with new peas.
Loving the idea of new peas!
Reads like Thoreau
That’s incredibly kind. Thank you!
I have a small garden but I have TONS of plant material in this 1/4 lot. I also have lots of rabbits. I’ve never had them do any damage to any of my plants. My hosta? Oh, I must spray them weekly to keep the local deer from eating them down to the nibs, but my yard man does this and it does work.
I’ll keep this in mind! While I like to think of myself as a sort-of urban dweller (it’s a myth I perpetuate), I have heard that we have deer who move through the neighborhoods at night. I’ll be on the look out.
Perfect piece. Always so good to have you visit.
Thank you. I really appreciate your letting me know.
I put all my almost gone lettuce/greens/vegetables out for the rabbits so they’re not so tempted to eat my plants.
Great idea!
I do so love this story. I have a huge garden and try to share with the wildlife. The woman who drowns her bunnies and chipmunks could never be my friend. There is room hopefully for all of us on this earth.
I walked out of a house and over to my car the other day, and noticed a beautifully detailed deer statue near the front of my car. It was really well done, the colors were just right, the eyes black and shiny, it was pretty big as well. “That must have cost a lot,” I thought, and then, of course, it twitched. Yes, really well done. I laughed and kept walking toward her when she flinched first, turned and hightailed it out of the area.
Vanessa, you get to write the next post.
He’s lovely. My best to you both.
What a coincidence…just the other day I came across one of your writings I saved. Titled “In Like a Lion”, you had decided you could survive nicely on “…bread and butter. And pasta. And cookies.” only to be told you had developed a gluten allergy. A Leo, you were soaking up some rays at the beach and enjoying every minute–this was a favorite line: “You can all but hear my tail gently slapping the sand as I raise my face to the sun.” I live to read such wonderful pieces from you. With no postings from you for so long, I failed to check your site as regularly as I should have and thought we might have had lost you to your other life, only to have you come roaring back with “Bunny”. It’s a delight. You haven’t lost your mojo.
Thank you, truly. Do sign up for the email delivery as it’s the most reliable to catch a new post. I’m going to try and get back on here weekly. I don’t have another outlet for this type of thing, so we’ll see how it goes.
Lovingly written. I see a wink to Thoreau and perhaps a nod to the author of The Hare with Amber Eyes. We used to have lots of bunnies in our garden until the foxes moved in. We used to have foxes until the coyotes moved in. Frequent grazers are raccoons, possums (so primordial!) and sometimes a skunk or snake!!!! I’m in the suburbs of Lawrence not terribly far from KU. Over 30 years ago my vision of my almost 1/4 acre lot was to create a forest…did I!! I planted for birds so I wouldn’t have to clean up the damn bird feeder. We’re on a migratory path of several different unique (to us) birds. Retirement does have its joys. And yes, you do have that book inside that needs to be birthed.
I’ve become a little bird-obsessed, so I’m envying your migratory guests! I’m not sure there’s a publisher for my mind-wanderings about home, but I appreciate your confidence in me. Happy new year!