Tonight as I was watering in the backyard at dusk I noticed a bit of movement down by the fence by where the old fruit tree - mostly dead now - backs into the corner. The movement resolved itself into a rabbit, sitting in the grass, watching.
I was a bit surprised as it did not start with the water being only five feet away or so - it just sat there, watching me, then hopped more into plain view. It was plainly there for a reason and plainly not scared of me at all.
I turned to water something else and then looked back - and was surprised to see the rabbit had hopped up to the patch of expiring black-eyed peas that I have growing (they are dying out due to the end the season, not for a lack of watering). Without further ado he pulled one of the leaves off and sat there devouring it, clearly not at all concerned with what he was doing or if I was likely to chase after him to catch him.
I admit that I was surprised by this boldness. We have rabbits that visit (I assume that they are the same ones, as in dusk it is difficult to tell them apart) and have become surprisingly nonchalant about our presence there - in fact, sometimes they will simply crouch down in the grass when Syrah the Mighty is there, and then raise back up when she has left. But I cannot recall a time where I have seen such a blatant move.
It is a bit concerning of course - after all, rabbits eating garden things are things that I am not going to eat. But I have a soft spot in my heart for these rabbits and can hardly begrudge them for eating something that is dying off anyway.
The whole experience, of course, has given me a new word: rabbitude. The act of being bold with panache while knowing that everyone knows that this is atypical behavior for you.
It is the unsurprising that sometimes carries the day - or in this case, the dinner.