I have a sneaky suspicion that my garden is not all it appears to be. To the untrained eye it’s a colorful jumble of flowers, shrubs, and short fat dogs. But to the warren of rabbits snug in their earthen burrows beneath my neighbors foundation, it is the feast that fuels midnight parties, where I suspect the horny hares are quite busy going at it like, well… rabbits. I’m starting to worry that the main thing growing in my garden is simply more rabbits. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
Do you see the huge swath of bright yellow heliopsis behind the purple monarda? Yeah, me neither. What I do see are a few flowers to the left and right while the middle remains woefully empty. Why is that? Bunnies!
When not busy devouring unsuspecting gardens or canoodling in the dark, those ravenous rabbits have been attending the Pool Shark School of Surprise Attack. Heliopsis? Mostly devoured but will be back to finish the job. Dalea? Delicious. Malva ‘Zebrina’? C’est Magnifique! Cypress vine? Pole Beans? Excellent with a splash of lemon, please.
But it is the demise of the asters that has me the angriest. How dare they eat my asters after I worked so hard to stuff them into plant supports? You can kiss my asster, you fuzzy, garden-munching, furball screwing, ‘Hey, look how cute I am’ pests! Out, out, out of my garden!
The neighborhood rabbits have eaten so much of my garden I doubt they even look like bunnies anymore. I should probably be on the lookout for a herd of hippos instead.