On the northern edge of the lake, where the trail turns away from Clement Park and enters Strip Mall Hell, nestled near a slightly wooded area where the trees are spectacular and the reflected sunlight is blinding, there is a small place between the lake and Hopps Bar and Grill that I refer to as Bunny Bend. This is where Duncan and I always spots a rabbit or two, where his darting senses go into overdrive, and where I am barely able to contain him.
Tonight, as we rounded the curve, after I paused to take a couple of pictures of the colorful shoreline on the opposite bank, Duncan stopped dead, nearly causing me to trip over him.
In the middle of the trail was the prize he'd been seeking, closer than he'd ever imagined. His head dropped low, his ears perked up and he was a hunter as I'd never seen before, not even with his squirrels.
"Slow," I told him, pulling his leash in tight. He took a small step forward, zeroing in.
We stood there nearly ten minutes, watching and waiting. The rabbit did not move. Slowly Duncan edged closer. The people on the patio at Hopps had noticed us and were making jokes and whispering as we moved in. Duncan didn't pay them any attention. He saw nothing else. His thoughts registered only one thing.
And then, after ten long, slow minutes, when we'd finally moved within a few feet of the thing, I leaned down low to Duncan's ear and said, "Get him."
It was over before it had begun. The rabbit knew what we were doing, was even playing along, but the moment Duncan leapt–his leash still firmly wrapped around my hand–the rabbit was gone. And try as he might, Duncan just couldn't follow.
Tonight, as we rounded the curve, after I paused to take a couple of pictures of the colorful shoreline on the opposite bank, Duncan stopped dead, nearly causing me to trip over him.
In the middle of the trail was the prize he'd been seeking, closer than he'd ever imagined. His head dropped low, his ears perked up and he was a hunter as I'd never seen before, not even with his squirrels.
"Slow," I told him, pulling his leash in tight. He took a small step forward, zeroing in.
We stood there nearly ten minutes, watching and waiting. The rabbit did not move. Slowly Duncan edged closer. The people on the patio at Hopps had noticed us and were making jokes and whispering as we moved in. Duncan didn't pay them any attention. He saw nothing else. His thoughts registered only one thing.
And then, after ten long, slow minutes, when we'd finally moved within a few feet of the thing, I leaned down low to Duncan's ear and said, "Get him."
It was over before it had begun. The rabbit knew what we were doing, was even playing along, but the moment Duncan leapt–his leash still firmly wrapped around my hand–the rabbit was gone. And try as he might, Duncan just couldn't follow.
1 comment:
Your photo skills add to this peice. I love the rabbit slowly getting closer to me.
It looked like fun!
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