Monday, May 28, 2012

Letter to the bean top eating rabbit...

I woke this morn in hopes to have rid myself of a problem. A problem that would easily be avoided if I had put the chicken wire up along the bottom of the garden fencing a month ago. Alas, I did not due to not having it yet. But now.. now I will not until I have handled a new nemesis in my garden. One that is so bold, so taunting. So...ANNOYINGLY smart.... 
Well played little rabbit. Well played. You outsmarted me this time. You have dined on my bean tops for 3 mornings in a row. This morning you eluded my well placed trap. Leaving more tufts of your fur clinging to the chewed tips & haphazardly between the rows of young bean plants. It's as though you are taunting my efforts with your every escape.
 I hope you enjoyed those slices of apple leading into the trap, where you stopped short by a mere inch of the metal step plate. I now see where my mistake was made and the next morn, there will be more. More to tempt your now accustomed appetite. Sweet juicy green apple slices laid out for your dining with a placement more accurate to your demise. 
I have freely allowed your light munching upon the lettuce. I even planted sweet peas along the fence row in hopes to satisfy your stomach with such rare delights in comparison to your wild diet. But Now... now you have attacked my precious Pinto & Borlotti beans. I had but one Borlotti plant to survive the disasters of last year. That one I so carefully saved seed from. Ensuring that this year I would reap a more bountiful harvest of my unbuyable legume. You have betrayed our treaty. Dismissed my consideration and kindness. You have stepped into a battle field. A battle I declare to win.
Game on little cotton tail. Game on...

OH! P.s.  And don't think I have not taken notice how you lounge upon the hillside staring at me. You, all splayed out so casually within a very short distance of me so early in the morn as the sun rises to the sky. I have taken note of your boldness and it will play into my hands very well. Very well indeed.

The peeved gardener who is feeling rather Mr. Mcgregor
  Sweetest Dreams,


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