Rabbit Food

There is a large, grassy roundabout (knoll, if you will) on the way from our house to the old airport, and it has been taken over by squatter rabbits who can appear pleasantly surprised at traffic from all directions but have learnt to ignore us when it suits them. Just like my daughter at the moment, I fear.

Well, I was wondering recently what they eat. There are many mouths to feed in a Rabbit household, and one roundabout cannot provide enough nutrition for a growing family. It is possible that they make their way in the early hours of the morning when the road is a little safer to neighbouring homes on the old airport, but I have Been Thinking and have a Better Plan.

Yesterday (while I should have been writing a sermon), the boy and I spent some time clearing the front garden. Technically, we don’t currently have a front garden, but some items resembling salad had taken root between the brickwork and had stubbornly resisted my attempts earlier in the year to defer to the taller species. Some were in danger of going to seed. We cleared a brownbinsworth together. However, I have about four brownbinsworths of bush from the back garden patiently waiting its turn to be recycled. This will take until 15th December to clear entirely, which is less than Satisfactory, in the full Ofsted meaning.

Several solutions spring to mind.

We could get a rabbit (or two) and let them loose on the front garden, and hope that they stay this side of the road. This would result in rabbit stew with salad.

We could take the brown bin to the old airport roundabout, and try and feed the rabbits there with tasty fresh stuff. This would result in a fine and letters to the council.

We could write to Ofsted and arrange a salad inspection to check to see whether the wilted rocket that is left is Satisfactory and have done with it. This would result in panic, huge ringbinders and a large tin of small chocolates.

We could start a food hall. Or, at the very least, sell home-grown bags of salad at the front of the property. Possibly out of the brown bin. This would result in living in the Suffolk countryside, probably Newbourne.

I could save some of the gardening for dad’s lunches when he comes to babysit and I forget to have anything in which he can eat. This would result in a raised eyebrow and an interesting story.

Or I could get get on and write my sermon for next week. However, a little bunny is crawling at my feet now and she is more than enough work for the time being.

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