A Bunny Lives in My Garden

When I got up this morning, and took my tea to wander around my garden, which is a morning ritual for me, I saw a bunny. Now, this is no ordinary bunny. Usually I shriek in horror, as I’m totally afraid of bunnies anywhere near my precious botanicals. But, this morning, I looked upon this furry creature with new eyes. You see, this bunny was eating the weeds that are creeping into my firepit. I almost shouted, “Go, bunny, Go!”. However, I fear the neighbours already think I’m crazy, and I didn’t want to confirm their suspicions. Heaven knows, I give them enough other reasons to doubt my sanity already.

I’d like to think this is not the same bunny, or even a kin to any bunny, that spends it’s winter in my garden chowing down on my euonymous each winter. Those bunnies, are bad bunnies. They don’t seem to care that my euonymous barely survive their ravaging, and as a result, I dare not plant anymore of these easy care shrubs.

Bunnies traditionally end up looking down the barrel of a gun at my home. Ah, yes, I said a gun. We peaceful loving Canadians do have our limits, you know. My son, Robin, learned early on to pick those rascals off from huge distances. And he was good at it! He’s moved out, bunnies have moved in, and he’s welcome to come home whenever those fuzzy suckers come hopping about. But for today, Mr. Friendly Bunny can stay.

But woe to him, should he choose to venture away from the weeds, and into the flora and fauna. Robin can still pick ‘em off quicker than you can say ‘Jack Rabbit’. And he’ll still rush home should any creature threaten his Mom in any way, as any good son should.