When I first saw the fur, I was a little alarmed.
Scattered about the grass in my tiny back yard were dozens of tufts of rabbit fur. I cringed a little but looked closer, already wondering what hawk or owl or enterprising house cat brought down one of my rodent neighbors.
But I didn’t find any blood or bunny bits and as I looked closer at the fur, I realized that it was mostly down. I wondered if the rabbits were simply shedding their winter undercoats. This was confirmed when I saw one of the overfed, under-scared creatures in my neighbor’s yard a few minutes later. They’re all mottled and patchy right now as their coat changes and readies itself for summer.
Since then I’ve been amusing myself with visions of bunnies rolling and rolling in the grass of my yard, rubbing at their itchy backs just like the horses do, emitting little bunny grunts of pleasure.
It may not be what really happened, but it’s the story I’m choosing to tell myself.*
None of the rabbits, comfortable as they are with humans, deigned to have their picture taken. But here is just one of the amazingly soft handfuls:
* Zowie. Some deeper meaning lurks in THAT sentence.