IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII     DON’T FENCE ME IN     IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

My  friends in town think they have rabbit problems. Out here, our rabbits take a number and wait in line to shop in our garden. To keep the beasts out of the peas and asparagus, we made raised beds that stand about 18 inches high. The first night, we could hear them laughing as they squeezed between the 4x4s.

One morning I discovered my beautiful broccoli was gone, and I had become caretaker to a row of one-inch stumps. I headed for the lumberyard. Enough of these miserable rodents––bunny, schmunny. Stick a powder puff on the rear end of a rat and you get a rabbit. They're not that cute.  

I dug a trough along the inside of the raised bed and sunk the bottom of a wire fence a good foot below ground level. Then I staked the upper part of the fence with posts one could use to contain rhinos at the zoo. The fence rose 4 feet above ground. A rabbit can’t climb that high, and it can’t dig that low. I had them unless they were going to call in some little hare-a-troopers.

I was collecting my tools, when I noticed something in the lettuce patch.There was a small indentation in the ground, and it was fur-lined. I got down and moved some straw. Awww––a nest of bunnies, newborn bunnies. I picked one up. It was adorable––but oh, no! These would be tasty hors d'oœvres for my dogs! Or a ravenous hawk. Or fox.

So I cut another fence, made more posts, and made a barrier around and over the nest. Now I had a bunny preserve inside my rabbit-proof fence. Even as I did this, I knew it was not rational.

I brought them shredded carrots, but I swear––I did not name them. Well, just Harley, because he kept kicking out his back foot like he was starting a little motorcycle.


After a few days, mom rabbit moved them out of the garden––I truly hope she moved them. I was left with the bill from the lumberyard, no broccoli, and a bad case of empty-nest syndrome.