In the late afternoon, I drive along to the dairy farm to gape at the hares as a sort of downtime treat. The light is declining, and a hare comes out of the field to jink on the edge of reason by coming up to examine me from about ten yards. After all, I could be predatory.
The black-tipped ears are stone-unmoving; only the twitch of her nostrils proves that blood moves within her. For a prey animal, the hare manages a persuasive aristocratic mien. In Alison Utterly's Little Grey Rabbit stories it is Hare who is aloof and authoritarian: "Where's the milk, Grey Rabbit? asked Hare. "We can't drink tea without milk."
[My dog] Edith, in the Land Rover's cab, sees the hare's impertinence and scrabbles at the window to be let out for the chase.
Oh, dear dog, you are now matronly, and have not the chance of a snowball in Hell of catching a long-legged hare that can do 40mph, yet a solid 10 for enthusiasm I think. The hare, nonetheless, detects her intent, and bounds back through its smeuse, its hole in the hedge. Hares are haplessly regular; they are easy to poach because they always exit and enter fields by the same routes.
See also the previous posts:
• The European Hare
• Stag of the Cabbages
• Mostly Solitary
• Strong-Hearted
• Elaborate Means
• The Year of the Hare
Image: Photographer unknown.
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