There goes the neighborhood

| Care, Just for Fun

Hello from Holly.

It’s been a little too quiet around these parts.

I shoulda known something was up.

Innocently enough, I meandered to the garden to pick flowers for teacher welcome back and was met with quite a fright: a huge rabbit jumped from the green beans.

For a split second our eyes locked and I knew we’d met before. This was not the ghost of my childhood teddy bear, covered in pixie dust and kid dirt and made into a real animal by a fairy princess–no–this was the same (insert minced oath) vermin that ate me out of house and home last year.

The lap dog gave quite the chase but Peter was practiced; he remembered full well his escape plan from last year and stop, drop, and rolled himself out of my yard faster than you could say, Mrs. McGregor.

I took a deep breath and a good look around and yep, same culprit, same prints: large swaths of green bean emptiness met my gaze.



But listen, (first world problems) they were on their way out anyway plus DMack gave me that look a couple weeks back that said, “If you put one more green bean on my plate, I’m becoming a Laffy Taffarian.” All this to say I didn’t fret too much. Until the next day. The day the freshly sprouted lima beans looked like this:



Why I oughta.

The bitties and I went on immediate offence. I gave them a strongly worded pep talk, some paper and paints and encouraged the creation of threatening, malicious, pernicious, and vengeful pictures displaying what would happen to old Peter if he shows his face around here again. These would be awful, horrible depictions of a rabbit’s foot factory, or a food truck with a fluffy white tail, serving piping hot rabbit stew spooned up by a truly totalitarian dictator-ess with no regard for the laws of The Hague or traffic court. These would be terrible, terrible images…



Maybe they weren’t listening.



Maybe what we have here is the kind of selective hearing where I’m set to OFF.

Perhaps the problem really is my doormat after all, as DMack suggested last year.

I’m going to need a new plan.

Send foxes.

About Holly Mackle

Holly Mackle is a wife, mama of two flower-sneaking bitties, and garden blogger at Digging Suburbia. She could never be a Disney princess as she picks constant fights with small woodland creatures. Holly is the author of Little Hearts, Prepare Him Room and the editor of In her free time, she enjoys both pop culture and theological podcasts, baking through Pioneer Woman’s recipes, and using every gardening metaphor possible to explain life to her girls. She does not enjoy chasing rabbits away from her green beans.

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