House rabbit...

I never meant to have a house rabbit. Although the golden mini lop that scrambles around behind and under my furniture is cute, she has a tendency to nibble electrical cords and leaves little raisin look-alikes in her wake.
The bunny, named Clara, came home with my daughter one day. She was in an enormous, space hogging cage and had all the accouterments a bunny could ever need. And as bunnies go, this is a nice one. She is quite tame and not of the biting variety. But still and all, I could have done without her.
During that first long winter, my daughter lost interest in her new acquisition. The air in the house had a whiff of dirty cage and I had to nag about the creature being fed and watered there in its expensive prison. The bunny was not getting the attention it deserved, and to my eyes was depressed. How could it not be, locked up there with no room to leap and explore as bunnies should? I took her out sometimes and let her poke around, slipped her carrots and fistfuls of good hay. I held her on my lap when I read a book and in general grew quite fond of her satin-soft self.
In the spring I took a large metal dog crate out to the yard and put the bunny there for a few hours a day so it could nibble on shoots of grass and feel the sun on its fur. She perked up a bit, but the cage still didn't offer her room to stretch her legs. She was safe, but didn't seem particularly happy. I had taken over her care completely by this time, and she had plenty of the proper foods, fresh water and clean bedding, but I still was vexed about her quality of life.
One day a box full of peeping chicks arrived in the mail. 16 Cornish hybrid chicks to raise for meat. They outgrew their brooder box and developed feathers so fast it boggled my mind. My good husband helped me build them a long paddock in the yard so they could get out of their indoor pen and enjoy the world. We put the bunny in there first. It was not a bunny proof enclosure in any way, but if we were to monitor her activities she could be outside for a while. She hopped and leapt and twisted. She lolled in the sun and rested in the shade. She ate grass and looked, for the first time, content. Periodically she would run and spring into the air in what looked, to my eyes, like pure joy. I let her out for a while each day. She would visit with the chickens and it did my heart good to think that for a little time she had companionship and freedom. I hated to put her back in her cage, and she hated it, too, squirming and protesting.
So, I made the decision to let her live in our big fenced yard. There was certainly a chance that she would become food for a hawk or eagle. If she left the fenced area, (which she would surely learn to do at some point) she could be a tasty treat for a passing fox, fisher or coyote. After weighing the options, I opted to give her a life that I perceived as richer and happier, even though it was far less safe than the life she was currently living.
She adapted in an instant. She explored every inch of the fenced acre. In the rain she huddled under the chicken coop, in fine weather she lolled by the wild bird feeder under the pine. Often she could be found following the flock of laying hens as they hunted bugs and tender shoots in the yard. Sometimes she'd go back to the building where her cage was and eat the food I left there, but she did this less and less frequently as time went on. I loved to catch a glimpse of her out of my window, or at night when I walked out with the dogs one last time. Seeing the bunny in the yard looking blissful became a high point in my daily round.
When fall came we put up a little wooden pup tent type structure near the chicken coop. I bedded it deep with straw and tucked a big hollow log in there would be a snug bunny retreat. Almost every morning when I went out to check on the hens she'd run to greet me. I'd give her a handful of food and top off the water bowl I kept for her in the “bunny barn.” Once in a while she'd let me stroke her soft fur a time or two, then would leap nimbly out of reach. By this time she had learned how to get out of the fence and she roamed the meadow behind the house, feasted on fallen apples in the side yard, and hid under the wide front porch. As the weather grew colder I began to worry about her more and more. How would she manage the deep cold? How would she do in the snow? How would I keep her water supply thawed?
One morning before dawn set my windows to glow I had a vivid dream. In it I went to a certain place in the yard and Clara was there. She let me pick her up and bring her inside where it was warm and safe for the winter. When I went downstairs the dark letters on the thermometer read 14 degrees. After I took care of the dogs and the chickens I put fresh food, water and shavings in Clara's cage and brought it indoors. Then I went to the spot I had dreamed of, a certain tussock of tall grass near the frost covered vegetable garden. Clara was there, sitting very still. She let me pick her up for the first time in months. She shivered a little in my arms as I carried her inside. That night we had our first big snow of the season, and it has been a winter of deep snow and cold.
So now I have a house bunny again. Clara's cage is in the kitchen, near the refrigerator where I keep a good supply of carrots and lettuce and crisp apples. And every day she runs about the house some while I keep a keen eye on the electrical cords. She makes me smile and livens things up a bit. In the spring I'll let her be a free bunny again. I am happily anticipating seeing her running wild and free, leaping in glee. All of this makes me think that sometimes in life we get things we never wanted. But that does not mean that those things are not without a certain joy.

Morning chores...

I love my morning routine. The dogs wake up early, wanting to go outside. This time of year I pull on fleece pants, shirt and jacket, stuff my feet into my beloved warm warm boots and head out. The fall air is cold and crisp on my sleep warmed skin and wakes me up like a slap. The dogs love the chilly weather and romp across the frosty grass smelling things I never will. I scan the yard and surrounding meadow, taking in the weather and the sky and the scenery. Often now I hear Canada geese on the pond, their voices sharp and haunting. First I go to the garage and grab a water bucket and my old, battered grain scoop. The scoop I fill with black oil sunflower seeds and scratch grains. I fill the bucket with water from the hose unless it is frozen, (soon it will be frozen for the rest of the season.) On frozen mornings I take the bucket back inside to the kitchen sink and fill it with slightly warm water. I think the animals appreciate the warmth!

Most mornings the rabbit leaps to meet me near the chicken coop, where she waits for a handful of seeds and corn. I knock the ice out of the water bowl by the coop and refill it. I open the pop door for the chickens and they come out, one by one. Some peer out, blinking at the early light, others rocket right past me, hopping and flapping with obvious enthusiasm to greet the day. I toss a handful of chicken seeds out around their yard, check to make sure they have food and water inside the coop, and head out across the yard. The dogs tag along with me, leaping and playing. I sprinkle more seeds in various spots, the majority of them on the north side of the house under the pines. The chickens like to hang there, scratching amid the fallen pine cones. I fill another water bowl there.

Next I fill the bird feeders and check to make sure the suet cages are full. The air around me whirs with the sound of wings as the wild birds zoom in for breakfast.

The dogs run for the house and I follow behind, pausing to grab an armload of wood. I open the draft on the wood stove and if I am lucky embers from the previous days fire spring to life with a red pulse. Wisps of fragrant smoke curl up towards me as I add logs to the coals, and blow on them to get flames dancing. The dogs wait in the kitchen for they know that when the stove is going they all get a cookie from the old dough bowl on top of the refrigerator. Sometimes they get two.

A flick of a switch fills the kitchen with the scent of coffee brewing. A warm shower awaits and then the day unfolds from there. But it is all grounded in the first blast of morning, for which I am so grateful.

Hard frost...

The thermometer outside the front door read 27 F. this morning. There was frost spangling the grass and coating the handles of the garden tools. It decorated the milk weed nicely.

It was cozy in the chicken coop, though... 40 F!

Both the domestic and wild animals were happy when I dished out breakfast of sunflower seeds, grain, cracked corn and some nuts. I love to watch them enjoy a good meal, especially on a cold and frosty morning.