This garden, (or more accurately the drives,
terrace and ‘edge’ bits) grows excellent dandelions and Mum and Dad gather
these and lob them into the rabbit run where they are enthusiastically received
by the bunnies Ginny and Padfoot. The rabbits bite through the leaves and then
gradually draw them into their mouths by chewing alternately left and right.
The leaf gets shorter like a child sucking in spaghetti. Many a daft looking
expression happens when interrupted mid-chew so that rabbit looks up with huge
green 'tongue' protruding.
Concerned about Rogers's possibly getting
beaten up by Ginny-the-Bully and or wet/cold from the omnipotent Roscommon
Rainfall, Dad decided what he needed was one of those triangular 'arks' -
little house-een at one end, mesh run at the other, the first foot of which
would have transparent plastic sheeting to give him a bit of a porch as he
stepped out the front door. Because this was all about keeping Ginny and
Padfoot out, but not stopping Rogers coming out to commune with the girls in
the wider run if he decided to, the run deliberately had baby-bun (coinin-ín?) gaps
designed into it and was covered in 2 inch size chicken wire. Dad had a pile of
spare wood, tar felt and chicken wire to hand so 2 hours later, working by eye
and tape measure, making it up as he went along, “ark-ín” was built.
Mum was summonsed and we processed out to the big run armed with the ark and Rogers in his cat-basket. The house end of ark was filled with the hay given to us by Cerise Lizz, so that it might smell familiar and comforting to Rogers. Rogers promptly vanished inside and, like kids at a zoo in the rain, Mum and Dad and we dogs stood in the drizzle, watching the little doorway of his house in the forlorn hope he might scamper out and frolic in his new run laughing at the grown-up girls who could no longer get at him. Eventually we got bored waiting and gravitated inside.
Mum was summonsed and we processed out to the big run armed with the ark and Rogers in his cat-basket. The house end of ark was filled with the hay given to us by Cerise Lizz, so that it might smell familiar and comforting to Rogers. Rogers promptly vanished inside and, like kids at a zoo in the rain, Mum and Dad and we dogs stood in the drizzle, watching the little doorway of his house in the forlorn hope he might scamper out and frolic in his new run laughing at the grown-up girls who could no longer get at him. Eventually we got bored waiting and gravitated inside.
In fact he did appear and so scamper late that evening, and the next morning at 06:30, as Dad had intended, he was out in the main run and scampered for the cover of his own ark as we approached to let Ginny and Padfoot out of the hutch.
Other than that, it’s been a case of sitting indoors watching the incessant rain try to turn our property into a bog.
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