This time, the gentle man opened the door and went to the injured rabbit. I followed close behind as he explained what he’d just witnessed. I saw the hawk waiting in the magnolia tree a few steps away and told her, plain and simple, there was no meal here today. She could leave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When we looked at the small frightened creature, we saw the visible wounds. They were bad. I hardly thought it had a chance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Redneck said we should move it to the back forty. Give it some space. Give it a chance to recover, if it was going to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I watched the little one take a few wobbly steps to the edge of a raised garden bed and cower in the shadows. And I said \u2014 nah<\/em>. We let it stay right here, safe in the garden. It can pass away peacefully. There’s no point in moving it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We agreed. We both went inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A little while later, the Redneck got up and stepped outside with intent to go check on the ailing little bun. But before he could even peek around the corner, he stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because there, on the railroad tie stairs that led up to the back 40 path, sat the biggest rabbit<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looked at him the way a mama looks at anything that stands between her and her baby. Sizing up the threat. She wanted to go down. But unlike her offspring, she had self-preservation instincts in full working order. So she held eye contact \u2014 strong<\/em> eye contact \u2014 and slowly backed herself up, as if she’d reconsidered the whole rescue mission entirely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Redneck, understanding exactly what he was witnessing, came back inside quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Wide-eyed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She came for her baby,<\/em> he said. She wanted to carry it back to safety.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n That’s not possible,<\/em> I said. Rabbits don’t carry their kits.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n And I believed that. It’s actually widely cited \u2014 mother rabbits don’t relocate their young the way cats carry kittens. They nudge. They nurse. They stay away deliberately so predators won’t follow them to the nest. Carrying a kit? Not really their thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But speaking from whatever quiet backwoods knowing he carries around like a pocket knife, he told me she wouldn’t have come for the baby unless she knew it could survive. He was convinced<\/em> she was coming to bring it home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A little while later, we both went out to check on the wounded little one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was nowhere to be found.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It certainly couldn’t have made it up those steep stairs on its own.<\/p>\n\n\n
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