While the streets might be dotted with dead deer, the lawns are littered with live rabbits.
A few days ago I stepped out the front door and saw a chunky brown rabbit right outside. I expected it to dart off at my next step, but it just stared dully at me with leaden eyes while I walked within two feet of it. I collected the mail and the paper, and stopped by the rabbit on the way back in.
”Go away, dude.”
He stared. Not a panicked stare. A bored get-off-my-lawn-lady stare.
I opened the door and realized why he hadn’t escaped: I’d blocked his warren access with a large rock in an effort to dry the leaky basement.
”Just go around the side. Plenty of ways into your warren.”
He didn’t budge. I went inside and deposited the mail and the paper. I got some coffee. I looked outside again. Still there. I opened the front door to say, “Act like a rabbit, dude,” and he bounded away.
The next day he was in the middle of the back yard, immobile. Gary speculated that He was a She, and she was sitting on a nest.
The day after that I went to look at the peonies in the side yard. First, I noticed the mulch in the peony bed on my left blocked the warren entrance. And, there on my right, sat the fearless phlegmatic rabbit. I figured I’d see how close I could get, maybe into foot-nudging territory. When I was one step away the rabbit bolted, five bonus rabbits exploded out of the peony bed, and all six vanished into the neighbor’s yard.
I exclaimed either “Jesus Christ!” or “Fuck!” — I hope it was “Jesus Christ” because I immediately heard my neighbor tell his four year old daughter to “look at all the bunnies, sweetie!” Sweetie and Dad were looking out of their open back door.
We had a nice talk about how he’s never seen so many rabbits, and he suspects there might be a rabbit nest under his back porch. I didn’t tell him there is a rabbit metropolis extending from his porch to mine, and I had blocked off all the entrances but his.