One summer when I was a child, I was out watering the gardens. Suddenly something small and fuzzy ran across my foot. I had accidentally watered a nest of baby bunnies.
We didn’t know where mama bunny was, but we put the four baby bunnies in a bushel basket with food and some soft cloths. They were very soft and small and cute, fitting quietly into our palms.
A few days later we took them out to the country to let them go. One of them had escaped during the night, so we only let three go.
I heard a crying that night, and when I went to the backyard where I found, huddled against the base of the house, the fourth baby bunny. He was crying, much like a baby would cry. He got another warm soft nest, a few veggies, and was released with his brothers and sisters the next day.
As I look around now and see the bunnies in the yard, I think back to those babies that were under my care for a few days. And part of me forgives the little cottontails who are eating my flowers.