Last night, I was just closing the blinds after putting the smalls to bed, when something caught my eye out of one of the front windows. On closer inspection it turned out to be the teeniest tiniest little baby hare, only just the size of two fists, lolloping around with ridiculously enormous back legs and seemingly lost. Whether this was his first excursion without Mum and Dad or whether he really was lost (or worst, orphaned), we realised we could do little to help the little scrap, but watched out the window as he nibbled at the grass and weeds (er yes, must sort that out) and ambled aimlessly about.

This lovely country picture was ruined, however, when big Bert wandered over to see what all the fuss was about and caught sight of him through the window. He proceeded to get completely overexcited, howling, whining and jumping up and down in a manner totally unbecoming to a greyhound deemed to be a ‘non chaser’. At one stage, he hurled himself from the top of the sofa, throwing himself dramatically against the window and was then banished to the kitchen by a very cross Hubby for fear of the furry pillock actually doing himself some damage.

Well, this morning the hare has disappeared but Bertie, undeterred, has taken it upon himself to mount ‘harewatch’ and is stationed as I write by the hall window, just in case the tasty morsel comes back again. As Hubby pointed out, there’s something odd about a dog that obsesses over everything from this little scrap of fluff to the sheep in the field, but is completely and utterly petrified of next door’s terrier.

By the way, I’ve had to Photoshop this photo to death as not only was it dark and drizzly, but our subject was only knee high to a grasshopper (as you can see by the seemingly enormous thistle next to him). I know it’s un-country-like and sentimental, but I kind of hope he found his way home.

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