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Leapin' Lapin and Rabbit Robbery

Varmint, begone!

As a hankering horticulturalist, I love puttering away in my garden. For years, I’ve nursed my favorite perennials, dividing and replanting beloved flowers in well-tended beds. I’ve swapped out shade, part-sun and full-sun seedlings and mature plants.

But a sinister someone has worked against me.

An unidentified interloper has snatched my bulbs, stolen my strawberries, toppled by vine-ripened tomatoes, and basically wreaked havoc on my harvests.

At last, the culprit has been spotted.

All it took was a bird’s eye view.

I’m not pointing any fingers, but someone used my bathroom overnight, along with way too much toilet paper. That same someone didn’t bother to plunge, as I noticed when I climbed out of bed and went in to brush my teeth.

Grabbing the plunger, I went to work. I cleared the clog. Then I stopped for a moment to open the window. (Don't ask.)

Here's the view from the upstairs window, taken through the screen.
That’s when I saw the garden thief.

“Yep, that’s what I thought,” I muttered to myself. I left the plunger in the pot and raced down the stairs and out into the yard. Still in my pajamas, I plodded across the still-damp grass in my moccasins.

The tulip-taker didn’t even flinch.

He just sat there in the grass, soaking up the sun. Honestly, he was adorable, even if guilty.

After a few moments, the bunny hopped boldly across the lawn and began helping himself to the annual flowers planted under my peonies by the garden shed.

Silly me! I thought I planted a garden, not a private salad bar.
 The snacker … and the slacker

I turned and glanced at the glass patio door, where ninja kitty snoozed in the sun, oblivious to the trespasser in the grass. Apparently, she punched out early. Or maybe she was simply too overstuffed with fish treats to care about wild game in the yard. 

Either way, the sentry was caught off-guard.

Someone would rather siesta than supervise.
Suddenly, I heard a roar from the second floor window. “Who left the plunger in the upstairs bathroom?”

The bunny must have heard the outburst as well, because he bolted under the shed. Clearly, my freshly painted outbuilding has become Mr. Bunny's own private rabbit hutch.

After taking a quick inventory of my last remaining ripening strawberries, I headed for the back door, only to find it had locked behind me. 

I wondered if my backyard neighbors, the yard sale moguls, spotted me in my flimsy summer PJs. Maybe they'd be even more scared than the sprinting bunny.

Score two points for the rabbit this time.

Photos by Linda Ann Nickerson – Nickers and Ink

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