Mini marauders have invaded our garden with malicious intent.
I must save the lettuce.
In the beginning, when the lettuce shoots were tiny ruffles of green and the beans had not begun to climb the poles, we noticed a sudden stunting of growth.
Careful observation pointed to a family of quail wandering through our yard in the early morning and cool of the evening.
When the babies were tiny fluff balls they could not jump over the foot-high wood barriers into the raised beds. While the babies hid in the weeds by the fence, Mom and Pop would prune our lettuce shoots.
We faithfully shooed them away from the garden. Most often, after a clap and shout they stuck to weed seed by the fence.
Once the garden crops experienced some solid growth, the quail weren’t so interested.
Then, the real garden gobbler showed his colors: pale brown and white.
You may remember the story of Farmer MacGregor and a young rabbit named Peter.
The quail are a minor nuisance compared to Peter and his siblings. They nibble on the beet tops, ravage the lettuce, snap their teeth on green beans and look for the carrots we did not plant. They must have a gourmet palate because I think I saw one take a whiff of the basil and consider his or her options. Probably waiting until the tomatoes are ripe.
So tiny.
So cute.
Was this, by chance, the rare pygmy rabbit that is on the federal list of endangered species? I compared a photo of that rabbit to our eager eaters.
No question, we’re dealing with the garden variety of cottontail.
Having watched a stealthy bunny try to mix and mingle in the quail flock on a late afternoon visit, my husband swore the rabbits were gaining garden access through a loose board in the fence.
“I’m fixing that board today,” he said.
“Our yard is open on two sides,” I replied.
“Then let them hop around the block to get here,” he growled.
He pounded nails into the fence board. A bunny watched, safely ensconced under the motor home on the other side of the fence.
That evening, a bunny hopped into the garden and perched on a railroad tie while my husband was grilling hamburgers.
“Feeling a little like Elmer Fudd?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “That’s definitely a wascally wabbit.”
It’s not that I don’t want to share, but our garden is small.
If the bunnies liked zucchini I’d give them all they could eat. I’m just not willing to hand over the lettuce even if they are cute and fuzzy.
Excuse me, it’s the shooing hour. Time to assume a defensive position on the patio.
I hear the quail coming.
Wabbits won’t be far behind.
Linda Bryant Smith writes about growing older, surviving and finding a little gold in the golden years. You can reach her at ljbryantsmith@yahoo.com.
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