My daughter and I went for a walk the other day, which sounds peaceful.
It was not.
In theory, it was supposed to be one of those nice little walks where we get fresh air, chat about life, and pretend we’re the kind of people who make healthy choices on purpose.
Instead, we found ourselves in a standoff with bunnies.
And not just any bunnies.
Judgmental bunnies.
We were walking past a neighboring yard when we spotted them. A few little rabbits tucked into the grass like they owned the place. Which, based on their expressions, they absolutely believed they did.
Now, technically, they were in someone else’s yard.
Technically, we were on the sidewalk.
Technically, we were minding our own business.
The bunnies did not care about technicalities.
One of them froze and stared at us like we had just marched through the front gates of Bunny Kingdom without permission. Another sat very still, ears up, clearly acting as lookout.
I’m not saying they were organized.
But I’m also not not saying it.
My daughter and I slowed down because obviously you have to slow down when there are bunnies. That’s a rule. You can’t just power walk past tiny fluffy wildlife and act like you have somewhere more important to be.
We admired them from a respectful distance.
The bunnies did not appreciate our respect.
They stared harder.
There is something very humbling about being silently judged by an animal that looks like a cotton ball with feet.
One bunny shifted slightly, as if preparing to launch itself into action. Not run away, necessarily. More like file a formal complaint.
I could almost hear it.
Excuse me. Do you have authorization to be this close to the lawn?
My daughter and I started laughing because the more we stood there, the more it felt like we were the problem.
Not the people whose yard they were in.
Not the cars going by.
Us.
Two innocent women on a public sidewalk.
Trespassers.
Criminals.
Possible lettuce thieves.
We kept walking, but of course I looked back, because apparently I needed confirmation that the bunny council was still watching us.
They were.
One of them had turned its entire little body to keep us in view.
That is dedication.
I respect it.
I don’t know when neighborhood rabbits became tiny security guards, but apparently they take their job very seriously. I have seen less suspicion from border patrol.
And honestly? Fair.
If I were that cute and had no real defenses beyond speed and a strong sense of personal boundaries, I’d probably be suspicious too.
Still, there is something deeply ridiculous about being made to feel unwelcome by bunnies in a yard that isn’t even yours.
We didn’t touch them.
We didn’t step on the grass.
We didn’t make threatening vegetable-related gestures.
We just existed nearby.
That was enough.
By the time we got home, I had accepted the truth.
The neighborhood belongs to the bunnies now.
The rest of us are just allowed to pass through if they’re feeling generous.
Next time, I may bring an offering.
Not peanuts, obviously. I’ve already learned my lesson with the pigeons.
Maybe a respectful nod from across the street.
Maybe a whispered apology.
Maybe I’ll just cross to the other side before the bunny council has to open a file on me.
Does anybody else have neighborhood wildlife that acts like you’re the intruder? Because apparently I am now on a watch list.
All the best,
Tia
