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It didn’t begin as a war. Cute little bunnies frolicking and cavorting and making me smile as I look out over my laptop to the lilacs. On any given day, there might be ten or twelve tucked into the bottom of the lilacs like Easter eggs ready to be found. I thought it was cute, seeing their worn little rabbit path leading out from under the deck and around the house past the apple tree and into the lilacs. Cute.

And then they were playing in the hay bales. It was cute. Was. Until they started sheering all the hay strings and pulling the bales apart. Not cute.

A couple of nights ago, my Christmas lights on the apple tree stopped coming on at dusk. After my run, I walked around to see what the problem was. We’ve had trouble with the outside outlets. But it was still dark, and I had no glasses. I pushed the buttons, knowing one was the test and one the reset. Nothing.

I came in and tripped all the breakers. And then I tripped them again, just to cover my bases. Still no lights. At daylight, with my glasses, I went back out and pushed the outlet buttons again. Then I cursed the bloody thing and whoever had “read the instructions” imprinted in the plastic, as if the instructions were somewhere I could read them.

You know where this is going, don’t you?

Turning to be sure the lights were still plugged into the extension cord from the tree, I see that my string of blue lights, my favorite lights, at the bottom of the tree have been sheered in half. The cute little bunnies are now irritating rabbit rodents. Where are the chicken hawks and owls? This is war.