The rabbits are killing me this year. The rain is welcomed, but not much help, either.
The rabbits are so bold, they sit in the yard as we pull into the drive. One was sitting under a tree as I was mowing yesterday evening. As I passed, it coolly regarded me and didn’t move an inch. They began nibbling our sno peas until I laid a protective barrier of dryer lint and hair around the perimeter of the planting. Unbelievably, we ran out of hair before we got the spinach surrounded, although we are in a state of constant production, but in the meantime, they mowed down the spinach patch.
My animus toward our cute little cotton-tailed friends is nothing compared to Alistair’s.
The state of Kansas is compensating for nearly two years of drought by hosting marathon rain sessions, a benefit of which has been that the pond has filled for the first time in as many years. The negatives are twofold: first, the rain tends to drive us inside where we become a little stir crazy and hyperactive; second, when we have a brief break in the downpours, we all spill outside to romp around in what amounts to a muddy, mucky mess.
Always opportunistic, we had a break this evening accompanied by a little sunshine, so we leashed up and headed out for some exercise. Unfortunately, the rabbits had the same idea.
Al saw the rabbit first. I was able to keep pace for about 5 strides, and then we hit this depression. My eyes the size of saucers, I “decided” to attempt a bold slalom land-shark move which consisted of lifting my right foot up and “skating” through the mud on my left leg. Alternatively, I lost my balance and hit the brakes Scooby-Doo-and-Shaggy style.
No one was more surprised than me when I found myself upright on the uphill side of this exercise.
Note the recurring theme: I stood at the top of this schism, wide-eyed and breathless when along meandered K. “Did you see that?!” I exclaim. “No, what happened? Are you o.k.?” comes the standard reply. I motion toward the skid with my head (I am standing on Al’s leash at this point, both hands pressed into my lower back where I am most certain I have experienced a strain which will require extensive beer therapy). K sizes up the skid, takes note of my muddy foot and asks, “Why don’t we ever have a camera when we need one?”
The rabbits are so bold, they sit in the yard as we pull into the drive. One was sitting under a tree as I was mowing yesterday evening. As I passed, it coolly regarded me and didn’t move an inch. They began nibbling our sno peas until I laid a protective barrier of dryer lint and hair around the perimeter of the planting. Unbelievably, we ran out of hair before we got the spinach surrounded, although we are in a state of constant production, but in the meantime, they mowed down the spinach patch.
My animus toward our cute little cotton-tailed friends is nothing compared to Alistair’s.
The state of Kansas is compensating for nearly two years of drought by hosting marathon rain sessions, a benefit of which has been that the pond has filled for the first time in as many years. The negatives are twofold: first, the rain tends to drive us inside where we become a little stir crazy and hyperactive; second, when we have a brief break in the downpours, we all spill outside to romp around in what amounts to a muddy, mucky mess.
Always opportunistic, we had a break this evening accompanied by a little sunshine, so we leashed up and headed out for some exercise. Unfortunately, the rabbits had the same idea.
Al saw the rabbit first. I was able to keep pace for about 5 strides, and then we hit this depression. My eyes the size of saucers, I “decided” to attempt a bold slalom land-shark move which consisted of lifting my right foot up and “skating” through the mud on my left leg. Alternatively, I lost my balance and hit the brakes Scooby-Doo-and-Shaggy style.
No one was more surprised than me when I found myself upright on the uphill side of this exercise.
Note the recurring theme: I stood at the top of this schism, wide-eyed and breathless when along meandered K. “Did you see that?!” I exclaim. “No, what happened? Are you o.k.?” comes the standard reply. I motion toward the skid with my head (I am standing on Al’s leash at this point, both hands pressed into my lower back where I am most certain I have experienced a strain which will require extensive beer therapy). K sizes up the skid, takes note of my muddy foot and asks, “Why don’t we ever have a camera when we need one?”
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