So I’m standing outside this morning, shaking out the bunny blanket, when I hear a rustling in the bush outside my door.

So I step down and start peering into the bush, trying to see what it could be.  Being that this is Florida, it could be darn near anything.

So after some poking around, I see it’s a tiny little wild baby rabbit.  Barely big enough to fit in my coffee cup.  And it’s charging at me, stomping it’s little feet in defiance.  Clearly it’s claimed the bush as it’s own.  Once it made it’s point, it bolted under my front steps where it’s got a nest/lair/secret superhero bunny hideout (“Quick, to the Buncave!”).  

It’s so squee!

Now, one of the things my daughter and I loved about living in Tennessee was the annual spring bunnies, watching the kits grow up, and play in the backyard.  We’re  so tickled to have that again.

And no, I didn’t touch it or try to catch it.  And was totally accidental that a couple handfuls of hay fell out near the bush.  Really.  Honestly.