Uh-oh. I saw a baby rabbit. You know what that means, right? More baby rabbits…more hungry, baby rabbits. My husband is not crazy about the baby rabbits. I’m on the fence about them.
They’re cute, but they’re eating all my stuff. They’re eating my good plants and flowers, acting like they’re at a free, 55-item salad bar.
Why don’t they eat the weeds? I could use less weeding time and more reading time. Wight? I mean, “Right.” Wait, I’m getting carried away with this wascally, wabbit thing.
One of my neighbors found baby rabbits last year. He laid a string a certain way over the rabbit hole, so he would know if the mother fed them. That’s ingenious. I wish I knew where my baby rabbits lived – not that I’d feed them or anything.
I love seeing the baby rabbit. It’s adorable. But then, baby rabbits grow up to be big rabbits. Did anyone see the news flash about Simon, the three-foot long rabbit of value that died in the cargo area of a plane? You can check it out right after you finish my column.
It was sad. For a big rabbit, Simon was a cutie. He was set to be the world’s largest bunny. He was supposedly going to outgrow his father. That would be Darius, a 50-pound, four-foot, four-incher certified as the world’s biggest bunny.
I was curious about what Darius ate. Here’s the monthly lowdown on what he chows down: 360 carrots, 15 cabbages, 60 dog bowls of rabbit feed, a bale of hay and 30 apples, plus some treat biscuits. Whoa! I hope none of my baby rabbits are descendants of Darius. If so, there goes my entire yard.
It must be baby season. Baby rabbits are in my yard. Baby chickadees are in my mailbox slot. And the bird who builds a nest every year on top of my porch light is back and I don’t have the heart to boot her and the babies out. Within the last week, I saw baby ducks, a baby frog and baby humans, not in my yard, but at various locations.
A few weeks ago, I was looking at baby pictures of me and my sister. I’m the baby of my family. I told my husband, “This baby girl shouldn’t have to sacrifice reading time for weeding time. It just wouldn’t be wight.”
Karen Tomas is a resident of Fort Mill: email@example.com