Wun Wabbit Wun

Br'er Rabbit
Br’er Rabbit

Be vewy vewy quiet now, I’m hunting wabbits. Born and raised in a briar patch Br’er Fox, born and raised. First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate some radishes. This is the tale of a curious rabbit.

As you get to the top of the hill, the road makes a sharp turn. Just around the corner are the gates into two fields, this makes a broad flat space, double the width of the entrance to any of the other fields.

If we approach from up the hill The Dog and I will often startle a rabbit as we come round the corner and he disappears in the twinkling of an eye through one or other of the gates.

Strangely, if we come from the opposite way, down the long straight lane up towards the two gates we can often see the rabbit – and I presume he can see us – but he seems confident in his ability to escape and will often hop about in full view, doing rabbit sort of things, until we are quite close, then he will make his leisurely way into the field or hedge at his own convenience. This particular time he hopped off into the field. Just inside the gate, the tractors have made two ruts where the grass has been well flattened but the grass in the centre is still at least knee high.

The Dog rushed off down one of the ruts nose to the ground – doing Dog sort of things – I walked a few paces down the other rut.

There was the rabbit a few yards away, standing up on his hind legs – he could hear The Dog but she was hidden by the tall grass in the centre of the track.

The Dog knew that the rabbit was near but she couldn’t see it because of the same tall vegetation.

I could see them both – but they both choose to ignore me completely. It’s a good thing I wasn’t feeling touchy this morning.

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