Some years ago a large family of cottontail rabbits gamboled and grazed in our yard on warm summer evenings. Then quite suddenly they disappeared and we missed them.
I didn’t think it was the arrival of Sam the vizsla that chased them out. Eventually I realized that we’d destroyed their habitat. They lived in the forest of Phragmites that was taking over our shoreline. Because this reed multiplies so aggressively and kills other plants, the state tries to eradicate it. So one autumn our Phragmites disappeared and so did our rabbits.
Well, this morning Sam the vizsla disappeared into the boxwoods where the sun never shines, and a moment later out popped Peter Cottontail himself in a big hurry, followed by Sam in hot pursuit. Now Peter was headed for the invisible fence, which would have administered a convincing admonition to poor Sam, and I didn’t want that.
“Wait!” I shouted with as much authority as I could muster. That’s a command we’ve practiced a lot, Sam and I, and to my delight she skidded to a stop that would have done a New York taxi proud. Maybe Peter will return. Meanwhile, Mother Osprey sat serenely on her nest—no sign of Papa or the chicks—summer goslings swam about, now almost as big as their parents. A lone duck watched from the riprap, and young shoots of Phragmites poked through the sandy bank.
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