Bold Bunny

While I was busy this morning, we were going to go over to Lindsay's house this afternoon to help Christopher remove a couple of pine trees.  A downpour this morning washed out that idea; taking down damp trees with power tools is not my idea of healthy living.

The sun is out now, so with luck we will dry things out and be able to cut trees tomorrow afternoon.  Until then, I have been tending the gardens around our own house.

Our neighbors to the south (corner duplex) both have wooden decks slightly raised above ground level.  Wooden decks tend to attract wildlife such as chipmunks and rabbits.  This leads to the following formulas:

Wooden deck = rabbits seeking nesting areas
Papa Rabbit and Mama Rabbit = lots of hungry baby rabbits.
Front garden = luscious, succulent new hostas.  (For the past two years, rabbits have eaten one particular hosta down to the ground.  This year, I transplanted a hosta from the back yard into the front garden in the hopes that the larger plant would be strong enough to survive an occasional nibble.)

The results:

Almost all of the leaves are nibbled off the transplanted hosta,
so I had to surround it with a chicken-wire fence just to protect it.

Within the last few days, I have discovered that if the rabbits cannot eat the little hosta, they will go after the larger bushes:

Note the chewed off leaf tip and the large hole
the rabbits have snacked on in the adjacent hosta.

This morning, Rick opened the front door and called me to see what he was viewing.  I saw the following:

Basking in the sunlight, the nibbler in question boldly rests his latest meal
right next to the bushes he now is eating!

Not only do the rabbits have the audacity to eat my hostas; this one in particular decided that he would sun himself right next to breakfast so he would have have to travel too far for lunch.

My mother tells the story of being a kid in the 1930s and playing outside with her three brothers.  A rabbit was eating my grandmother's garden, so the boys were trying to scare it away by throwing stones at it.  They all missed and the brave, stubborn rabbit stood his ground.  Then my mother picked up a stone, threw it as hard as she could, hit the rabbit squarely in the nose, and watched as he immediately dropped dead.  Of course, she felt terribly guilty afterwards.  I am not sure, after seeing my vegetation destroyed, that I would experience those same emotions.

So where is Mom with a good rock when I need her?