Cuniculture

Spoiler!

I had chased the little long-eared rogues from dawn till nigh unto dusk, and never laid so much as two fingers upon one of them.

By my troth, I was made a fool of by hares.

They sprang from tuft to tuft, vanished through grass, slipped ’neath bramble, and mocked me with their white tails flashing like scraps of linen in the wind.  I had set snares badly, crept softly, lunged boldly, and cursed most piteously.  Yet ever they were swifter than my hands, wiser than my feet, and better acquainted with the earth than I.

At last, spent past all pride, I stumbled into a patch of wild growth and fell upon the ground like a sack of turnips. There I lay, panting, sore in every limb, and full of bitter thoughts.

“God’s wounds,” quoth I, “I am beaten by rabbits.”

My belly then made answer louder than my wit, and I fumbled in my poor bag for such berries as I had gathered that morning from a wild bush by the ditch. They were small things, dark and sweet, and I ate them as a beggar eateth: with no ceremony, and much thankfulness.

Then came the marvel.

From the grass before me peered a little leveret, scarce more than a puff of fur with ears. It looked upon me, and I looked upon it. I moved not, for in truth I had no strength left to move. The small creature crept nearer, then halted, then turned aside, then came again, as though fear and hunger did pull at it by contrary strings.

Another came after. Then a third.

They made a shy dance about me, hopping forth and back, sideways and near, as if the very field had grown curious. I held my breath. One bold little thing came so close I could see its whiskers tremble.

Softly, slowly, I took a berry betwixt my fingers and held it forth.

The hare stretched its neck, snatched the berry from my hand, and leapt back as though it had stolen treasure from a king.

I laughed then, but gently, lest I frighten them.

“Well now,” said I, “all day have I chased thee, and thou wouldst none of me. Yet when I sit my weary bones upon the earth and share my poor supper, thou comest like a neighbor to my door.”

One by one they came, timid still, yet trusting by little measures. I gave them berries, and they took them from my hand. Not caught. Not trapped. Not conquered.

Welcomed.

And there, with dirt upon my knees and shame upon my pride, I learned a thing no hunter’s snare had taught me: a hare is not won by haste, nor by hunger, nor by grasping hands.

Thou must sit still.

Thou must be patient.

And thou must have foodstuff.