"Susan the Rabbit"

by Amy Shockley, guest writer

To me, one of the most delightful sounds in nature is the wooshing of gentle winds through evergreen trees. On this particular day, while walking out to the herb garden, I paused to admire our white pine grove. Planted as seedlings, these trees were now about eight feet tall and spaced closely together, positioned to catch the cross winds. Today I was almost hypnotized by their branches dancing in the breeze and filling the air with their special music.

I had tarried longer than I had meant to. Reluctantly picking up my basket and shears, I took a step forward, when… my mood suddenly changed from bliss to ABSOLUTE HORROR!!

Without warning, a hideously grotesque creature, about thirty inches tall, burst out from the pine grove right in front of me!! With an odd, lurching gait, it walked upright like a human, but on deformed legs. Its misshapen arms with shrunken hands hung straight down at its sides. The creature’s flattened oval, lumpy looking head, with an unidentifiable face, was very small in proportion to its body. As the thing moved further out and away from the shade and low branches of the pine trees, I saw that it was covered in short, dark gray, fur.

“What can this be??”, I demanded of the universe, struggling to put a name to the thing!

Not hearing an answer and utterly freaking out, my imagination went wild – a demon??, an ogre??, a cryptid?? And where in the world did this monster come from?? Or was it an extraterrestrial and not of this world at all? The universe remained silent. Whatever it was, it was lurching closer and closer and I was sure it was coming for me! Frozen in fear, my heart was in my throat. I could neither scream, nor run. Losing my grip on the basket and shears, they dropped to the ground. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and waited, knowing that my fate was about to be determined. I was too petrified to fight, and flight was out of the question. Getting it over with was, to me, the only option.

But nothing happened! I waited a couple of minutes before opening my eyes. It was then that I realized that the creature had ignored me and had gone on to a tall stand of wild brown-eyed Susans!

I relaxed a little while observing that the thing was hungrily nibbling the flowers instead of me! “Well, at least the creature eats plants, and not people,” I assured myself, my heart beating quite a bit slower than earlier. Cautiously, I took a step or two in its direction, but it hastily moved farther away, leary of me. So, I stayed still and watched as it ate the flowers, while standing taller than they.

Before long, as if someone had turned on the lamp in a dark room, the story changed. The strange being quit walking around on two legs and dropped to all fours. Two tall ears popped up on its head! Oh, my goodness – I felt like such a fool!! It wasn’t a demon, an ogre, a cryptid or an extraterrestrial. It was just a huge, gray rabbit! I had been so startled at its sudden appearance that my rational thinking wasn’t functioning!

Unlike our resident cottontails, this was a domestic breed living in the wild. I guessed it’s weight at twenty pounds, maybe more. But it behaved as feral, not allowing me to come near. When I tried, it took off fast on two legs. While upright it flattened its rabbit ears down and behind its head, looking weird and scary again. This means of locomotion was very un-rabbit like, to be sure, and we never solved the mystery as to why upright walking was preferred over four-footed hopping. Maybe putting weight on its front paws was painful for some reason, or maybe it was just an odd quirk. Who knows? I forgave myself for not recognizing it for what it was.

I named the rabbit Susan, after the flowers, of course. Gender didn’t matter, it could have been female, but it could have also been a neutered male that had gotten loose. Or worse, perhaps it was dumped and abandoned by its former owner. At any rate we were happy to welcome Susan into our backyard habitat for the next five or six years. And for the duration, we assumed that the rabbit was a she.

From the beginning of our residency, our property here in town was not much wider than the house. About half an acre, it went straight back quite a distance to a field at the rear property line. In 1978, the National Wildlife Federation had certified it as a “Backyard Wildlife Habitat.” Publicity about the certification in our local newspaper had led to our next-door neighbor’s selling us half an acre of unused land bordering ours at right angles, forming an “ell” out back. The unkept “ell” had a few old trees and standing dead snags, various wild grasses, weedy flora and the added bonus of a small low spot that stayed wet and marshy. Wildlings of all types had already established their homes there. What a wonderful addition to our habitat! Besides, under our ownership, the area would be protected and remain wild. We called it the “New Yard.”

Soon after purchasing the new yard, we put up a tall chain-link fence around the entire property behind the house. This included the usual driveway and pedestrian gates, and we also added an extra back gate. This we fastened partly open, allowing smallish, non-flying wildlings (rabbits, for example) to come and go to-and-from the field at will.

The only other thing we did to enhance the new yard was to plant a wide and diverse variety of native flora. We carefully chose tree saplings, shrubs and wildflowers compatible with our climate zone that would benefit the wildlings in one way or another, year ‘round. Our goal was to have plants that would provide in succession and season-to-season, food, shelter and places to bear young.

For many years, before the field was sold and built upon, pregnant white-tailed deer came to the far back corner of the new yard to drop their fawns! The only way for them to have come in would have been to jump the fence (The back gate was only held open about 8 inches). We did not have deer in town, so they must have come from the field. We always wondered how they knew to come here?

We had planted the trees close enough to each other to form a small woodland along the back fence, facing east, and this was where the deer gave birth. Some of our early rising neighbors and I enjoyed gathering outside at dawn to see the deer silhouetted against the new day’s sun. Mothers and youngsters were fun to watch as the mothers came out into the grass to graze, and the youngsters frolicked in the woods. While they were here the back gate was propped wide open so the deer could come and go as they wanted.

We didn’t mow the new yard much because living in town we were bound by ordinance to keep our grass cut. However, our “ell” abutted the backyards of five neighbors, shielding it from being seen by our code enforcement officer, and nobody was tellin’ on us. Truth be told, the neighbors enjoyed our habitat as much as we did. They never fussed that our grass was too tall. So, though we occasionally did mow, the grass was kind of high and the place remained wild.

The old, original yard continued to serve our human purposes, such as our driveway and off-street parking area, utility sheds, clothesline, vegetable and herb gardens and a small, manicured lawn. And, of course, our little grove of white pine trees. This was the world in which Susan found herself when she adopted us.

There were no barriers here to keep wildling and human areas separated; peaceful coexistence prevailed. It was business as usual, for example, for me to hang the wash out on the line surrounded by an audience of cottontails and squirrels. And it was not unusual for me to pick a bouquet of wildflowers in the new yard, accompanied by hummingbirds, butterflies and bees in the same patch alongside of me.

Because the habitat residents had been foraging for themselves, I did not provide food except during extreme droughts when most everything turned brown and inedible, or during severe winter snow and ice. When needed, I distributed carrots, green cabbage, apples and birdseed. (Yes, starving squirrels got their share alongside the birds, so there!) It was never my intention to tame or make pets of the wildlings and I tried hard to deliver everything anonymously, usually at night. Therefore, I do not believe they gathered around me looking for a handout. It was more like I was just another being they were accustomed to seeing around and I didn’t pose any danger to them.

Susan took her share of carrots and cabbage and foraged from the habitat. She loved brown-eyed Susans and primrose flowers, but everything PALED in comparison to the home-made white bread!

I had given my husband a bread maker for Christmas, and he made great quantities of delicious loaves, much more than our family could eat. Freezing some and using some in recipes, there was always more bread left over. This was put on the ground near the back gate for “whomever”, and it always disappeared in a wink of the eye. I thought the birds were taking it, but it was Susan! One day I was there leaving scraps when, who should come bursting out from the pine grove, but you know who, in her ogre disguise. This time I just laughed at her as she grabbed the bread in her mouth and took it back under the pines.

Susan didn’t associate with our fluffle of cottontails, and they didn’t associate with her. I never saw an actual confrontation, but it seemed to me that each side viewed the other with disdain and scorn, preferring to keep their distance from the other. I do believe Susan felt superior to the “lower class” cottontails and assumed they should treat her with deference. She, for example, decided that she should have “first dibs” when I dropped some carrots for them. And she sure got her back up when the cottontails had congregated where SHE wanted to be and made this known to them in no uncertain terms. To Susan’s way of thinking, the cottontails, not she, should graciously move somewhere else. Of course, Susan could have done the same thing. What a snob! The cottontails, though, would have none of that, and stubbornly stayed put, ignoring her. Susan would get in the middle of them and flop down, usually on top of one of them. At that point they would finally scatter. This scenario happened over and over again and was absolutely hilarious to watch. I personally believe Susan just enjoyed making the cottontails move because she was bored.

Once in a great while I was permitted to stroke Susan on her head, just twice and not more. I could tell she was tolerating my show of affection (noblesse oblige, you know).

Another thing she tolerated was during the cold weather when she sheltered as best she could and I felt sorry for her, piling loose straw around and over her like a warm blanket. At least she wanted me to think she was just tolerating it, but she really appreciated the warmth. That’s alright, her aloofness didn’t fool me one bit! She nestled down in the straw all cozy and went to sleep. Every time.

Back in those days we didn’t carry cell phones in our pockets with cameras . To take photos we had to have a camera with film in it. Having a camera ready to take a spontaneous photo with you all the time wasn’t part of everyday life for most of us. The one thing about Susan that I regret is that I never had a camera with me to catch a photo of her doing her scary thing.

So, this was our Susan, a unique character indeed, and someone that gave us great moments and memories. I’d like to think she understood and appreciated how much we cared, and I am pretty confident that she did.