Visiting with the rabbit, again
Looking back on my first year of Science-Fiction-Create
Of all my stories this last year, I believe “The Rabbit” was the most personal. And my favorite. It’s a bittersweet tale of life and death in a small urban oasis. ~JRC
The Rabbit
First published, September 25th, 2020
Early last spring, a rabbit set up home in my backyard. Occasionally I'd see her, munching on the greens in the vegetable garden boxes. I know she was a "she" because it wasn't long before two little bunnies joined her.
Rabbits do what rabbits do, I guess.
At first, I saw the bunnies rarely. Small and vulnerable, the rabbit kept them on a tight leash. The two barely crept out from the underbrush, preferring to keep hidden instead.
But it wasn't long before courage took hold, and the little ones ventured forth into their new world.
About three years ago, long before the rabbit, I began the arduous task of redoing my backyard. I intended a native plant restoration. The goal was to stabilize a steep slope and add a bit of nature to an otherwise urban setting. I was also embarrassed - the place looked like a disaster in need of mitigation.
It was a big project - I had to excavate a long swath of eroding slope, install a French drain system, and build a free-stack stone retaining wall. Getting rid of the weeds alone was a huge task. They had taken over, and the few landscape plants that remained were invasive too.
All told, it took me a year of spare time to ready the site.
Planting the new natives was a job. The soil was rock-hard, and I needed a pic-mattock to break it loose. After some back-breaking digging, I installed twenty or so locally sourced shrubs - coast sunflowers, toyon, rhamnus, black sage, white sage, a California sycamore, three live oaks, and two endangered conifers native to San Diego County - a Torrey pine and a Tecate cypress.
In the first rainy season, the plants took off and filled in the slope well. They helped slow runoff and improved the landscape’s appearance. The sunflowers had bloomed, and soon native birds arrived to eat the seeds.
The place exploded with growth in the next season. After a second year's rain, thousands of seedlings erupted from the once-barren soil. I expected to begin weeding but realized that most of the sprouts were native sunflowers. Apparently, the birds didn't get all the seed.
In a few short weeks, the entire slope was a sea of yellow. It was spectacular.
The toyon grew fast, as did the pine and cypress. Even the slow-growing oaks leaped towards the sky. My backyard was now indistinguishable from the natural areas elsewhere in the region.
Once an embarrassment, the landscape was transformed into a source of pride.
The rabbit family was a special addition. Many gardeners consider them a pest, but I was pleased to see another creature in residence there. My son and I enjoyed observing the rabbits as they grew. One, in particular, became bold quickly.
It was hard not to anthropomorphize the little guy. He would run out onto the rock wall, jumping and sprinting back and forth. It was clear - the bunny was playing. We laughed out loud, watching him learning and enjoying his new body.
It feels good to be a kid, no matter what species you are.
Occasionally he would stop, resting in the sun on one of the stones. The same stone each time; he was a creature of habit and appeared to like that spot in particular.
For a while, all three rabbits stuck together. They especially loved munching on the kale in the garden beds. I didn't mind - I'm not too fond of the stuff and often wondered why I even had it. As for the native plants, they didn't make a dent in them. It was a cohesive environment, and the rabbits belonged there.
The bunnies grew quickly and began looking more like adults. Soon after, the mother disappeared as did one of the offspring. They either moved on or became prey for the neighborhood predators - hawks and cats, mostly; coyotes too. But the bold little one remained.
Often, I'd see him in the early light, enjoying the still of morning in his favorite spot on that rock. I'd sip my coffee and watch him from my kitchen window. More than once, I was thinking about his thoughts.
Was it all instinct? How much reflection goes on in a rabbit's head? Did he have memories of the rock where he sat? Or was it just a sense of security - a place where he had always been okay?
It wasn't unusual to go a day or two without a sighting, but the rabbit would eventually show up. There he'd be, sunning himself on his rock as he'd always done before.
That all changed three weeks ago.
At first, I didn't think much of it, but I started to wonder after about five days of not seeing him. Had he left? Perhaps he found a mate of his own and migrated to her part of the neighborhood. Or was it what I grew to fear, that something finally took him?
I worried for the rabbit. It made me think about my own self-interests - concerns & wants; fears & desires. More complex than a rabbit's no doubt. But with the same instinctual basis.
A few days ago, I climbed into the habitat to inspect a fence that was leaning. While up on the hill, I looked around for signs. Maybe a recently used den or, perhaps, some freshly nibbled leaves. I longed to see the rabbit himself, hiding under the sagebrush.
I did find something, but it was not what I had hoped. There, on a small barren patch of ground - coyote scat. I knew it wasn't dog because it had fur in it. The beast had been eating whole animals, not kibble.
After taking a closer look, I surmised the evidence was at least a week or two old. It had been drying in the sun and was desiccated, but not completely. I kneeled next to it, thinking about the rabbit and what might have occurred.
This morning, I woke as usual, around six. Making my way to the kitchen, I started the coffee and looked out the window while it brewed.
After pouring a cup, I sipped and savored the moment. Fall was here, and I could feel and smell it through the open window. I love the season - milder weather, with a slow crescendo of excitement leading into the winter months.
It was a beautiful morning, cool with a light coastal fog that hadn't yet burned off. I pondered the season a moment longer, then my thoughts wandered.
What had the rabbit been thinking? On that rock, in the early morning sun.
Until next time. Science. Fiction. Create.
JRC
2020 was not all bad with the COVID keeping up pen in. Thanks for the good stories. Keep writing with hopes that. 2021 will be more fun reading for all.