Exmoor Lockdown Diary 112 - Finn and the Rabbits
There are an awful lot of rabbits around in my valley at the moment. Indeed, they’ve just eaten half our runner bean plants.
Most days I go out with the lurcher who likes a bit of rabbiting, and he is able to enjoy excellent sport chasing hither and thither. But alas, Finn is not the brightest hunter on the block and he rarely catches one. A few, but not many.
Indeed, I suspect he prefers the chase to the gory moment of dispatching his prey – and I have noticed that he’s taken to reducing speed ever-so slightly just as he’s reaching the grey blur that’s heading hedge-wards as fast as its legs will run.
There are a couple of big burrows up in the centre of some steep fields above my house that are occasionally visited by the village rabbit-catcher. He believes these vast rabbit citadels are centuries old – they certainly have the look of ages about them.
If you are quiet when entering one of these fields you will see how each of the burrows will have a single rabbit sitting bolt upright on guard. The conies that live in the hedge around the sides of the fields don’t seem to bother with this so much, but out there in the middle perhaps life is altogether more risky.
I don’t see why. The fields in question are large and you’d have thought the rabbits at the centre would spy anything that moved the moment it came through the hedge or gate.
Certainly, the lurcher has no chance with these centre field rabbits. Way before he gets anywhere near, the guard will bang his foot and the whole tribe will disappear underground like a grey Bristol Channel wave washing back down a reef full of holes.
On my travels around the West Country over the years I’ve spotted a number of black rabbits, which I don’t recall seeing anywhere else before with the exception of my regular visits to Lundy.
Black rabbits, black dogs, black cats… Any animal of this dusky hue seems to create a degree of superstition. Up on Dartmoor black rabbits used to be regarded as witches in disguise. No one in the hills would ever knowingly hunt such a rabbit – it was believed the witch would come back to haunt the hapless hunter if she reverted to human form.
Why chance such things? If the black rabbit population continues to grow, I must make sure my lurcher continues to miss his mark. However, when it comes to the blighter who has eaten half my beans, I can only hope the daft lurcher might make a meal of him, sooner rather than later.
