Ooooo, that wascally wabbit

Don’t you hate it when happy bun in the sun…


…equals vicious nips on the ‘lips?


Yes, I get the irony of entertaining thoughts of wabbit hunting so close to Easter. But I knew this was coming when I saw that the biggest-wild-rabbit-I-have-ever-seen had moved in under the shed (perhaps kicking out last year’s groundhog in the process). And I suspect the only treats this bunny will be leaving are of the variety I’ve already had to dodge in the yard.

He/She/Mother-to-be doesn’t seem to grasp that an entire house, yard, tumbledown shed, and pool enclosure filled with lovely hiding places and tasty vegetation is just next door with no one in sight (the sheriff’s sale having been postponed until May). Nope, very content to settle down in our little slice of heaven and munch on our hors d’oeuvres (that’s French for “hours of labor.” Not really, but it should be.)

Had I been faster on the shutter, I could have also displayed a picture of the gorgeous red-tailed hawk that startled me when it flew by my window a few days ago and landed briefly in the neighbor’s tree. (And has since conjured all sorts of Fudd-worthy fantasies.)

Hmmmm, bunny my dear, perhaps you and any little ones that might be forthcoming would be happier in a new neighborhood? (Just a suggestion from your concerned caterer.)

Shhhh. Be vewy, vewy qwiet. I’m hunting wabbits.

~ Elmer Fudd

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