...is worth six in the garden.
A last second reverse heave on the levers of the hydrostatic mower managed to avert an accidental massacre. Chopping baby bunnies is never a pleasant thing, no matter how cold-hearted the person. The unintended consequence is that for the last two weeks we have been protecting rodents.
What follows is a tale of conflict. A war, as it were, between the ever-so-practical-facts-of-life-no-matter-how-brutal-they-are side of me and the isn't-it-adorable-don't-you-just-want-to-hug-it side.
An inexperienced doe scratched a little runnel inside our Border Collie's pen. Fortunately for her babies, all of Kirby's killing instincts have been bred right out of him. He checks on them every time he does his rounds, but other than that is leaving them alone. You could say that they are the most well herded rabbits around.
At the time of the near fatal mowing, the niece and nephews from next door, plus our own daughters were present. We have never tried to shield our kids from the fact that death, while not pleasant, is part of this fallen world. However, when there are six children clamouring around, there is no such thing as discrete, humane dispatch. Which is why I have been giving daily progress reports, keeping the backyard light off to keep from scaring mom away, and even running out in the rain to cover them so they don't drown.
Their names are Clover, Thumper, Dandelion, Hazel, Fiver and Sixer. Between the coyotes, hawks, stray cats, and foxes, one of them might make it to adulthood. The last of the bunch struck out on it's own this morning to seek it's fortune in the wide world. It's probably hiding in my rhubarb.