Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm,
the family’s mixed Lab.
Young rabbits are the land version of forage fish.
Fatheads, so to speak.
For a while, I was beginning to think that the cold wet spring and early summer had limited the number of rabbits born. Though I think rabbits are to breeding what the Kardashians are to the celebrity spotlight.
Then I began seeing them again, young rabbits not the Kardashians, on my morning walks with the meathead, which always makes for a challenging few moments when he decides if he is going to put the effort into making a charge to chase the rabbit or not
There’s a reason rabbits are prey.
The young ones, especially, are not particularly sharp, sort of fresh meat in a squat heap.
Saturday morning, in the middle of the grassy area leading to the town pond, a young one decided to freeze.
Now, in the middle of a briar patch, a rabbit freezing is very effective cover with their brown fur matching or blending into the growth.
Sitting in the middle of green grass, no, not so much.
I think Storm was nearly as stunned as I was. We walked within a few feet of this dumb bunny before he realized, “Hey, this isn’t working.”
And he scooted off into the brush.
It feels good to do a Ramble with Storm again. As if the world is back on even keel.
