The Bunny

I'd heard a bunny had been spotted, a creature new to these parts, but until last Saturday I had yet to lay my eyes on him. I was mulching the knockout rose and digging up day lilies when I caught his slight movements from the corner of my eye. 

The rabbit was about eight inches long, with perfectly upright ears that perked up at the slightest noise and strong little jaws that would, if they could, eat all the flowers we've fenced off from the deer. At the time, though, he was only nibbling harmlessly at the weedy grass on the garden's border.  

I watched him for several long minutes, pondering the nature of cuteness, how much of it has to do with the size, shape, fluffiness and configuration of the tail — long and thin (rats) creepy; puffy and white (bunnies) adorable. 

Though we have squirrels, chipmunks, deer and even the occasional raccoon and skunk in these parts, rabbits are rare. Which gives them a luster — and a free pass — that other creatures lack.

Were the bunny to procreate, though (which bunnies are wont to do), he might lose a lot of his charm.