My wife and I have a system. If she calls my cell phone two times in a row when I’m at work, it means she really needs to talk to me and I should leave whatever soul-sucking meeting I’m in. When you are garden crazy, here are the kinds of double phone calls you get:
Me: Hey, what’s going on?
Wife: There are rabbits in your garden.
Me: Rabbits? S? More than one?
Wife: Kyle saw them. Yeah.
Me: In? In my garden?
Kyle In Background: He hopped away.
Wife: I let the dog out. He’s patrolling now.
Me: Good. Let’s not feed him for a while. Bet he’d love a soft little bunny.
In Winnie The Pooh, Rabbit was always the flustered gardener. Meticulous and neat, but always on the edge because he knew that Tigger was soon to come bouncing by, smashing his cabbages and carrots. He spent every waking moment with his garden and somehow always seemed to bounce back when some tragedy wiped out his work.
Well, I don’t really think that A.A. Milne spent much time studying the animals he wrote about. I’m here to tell you – rabbits aren’t the patient gardeners Milne led me to believe they were. They are, in fact, varmints and they will leave no clue as to how they infiltrated your garden. There will be no hole dug beneath your fence. There will be no ladder left behind. There will be nothing that indicates to you how they did it. And they will eat. They will not wait for winter and patiently stockpile things. They will eat as if their survival depended upon it because it does. And can you blame them for wanting to enjoy beet greens over grass shoots?
About two years ago I had some rabbit. Cooked in a french way.
So, I’ve learned two things about rabbits. First, they don’t garden in the traditional sense. Second, they taste delicious.