The day I first saw you, all I could make out was a tiny shock of ginger fur in amongst the ferns.
You were so small, your eyes so big, your feet and little ears so dainty.
Swooping wings made you flee into the shadows, but you were always there. Over time I saw you grow. You nibbled on my marigolds and capsicum leaves. My parsley was your domain, little holes everywhere showed roots were your favourite. Sometimes you felt confident enough to sit in the sunshine, chewing on clover or nasturtiums. It was a garden of happy abundance for you.
A cockatoo or kookaburra flying in to see what there was to eat would send your little white tail bobbing into the undergrowth. You learned how to keep yourself safe.
Rabbits aren’t supposed to be around here. Sydney isn’t your proper place, and though you were born in a warren at the back of the neighbour’s property, I wouldn’t be surprised if either or both your parents were escaped pets.
You were too cute to get angry at, too sweet to want to get rid of. Your friends the black bunny and grey bunny sometimes showed up, but you, sweet ginger seemed to find my backyard home more than they ever did.
This morning, the noisy mynahs were alarmed. Nature’s guard-birds, I knew something was up. It was crows. Where there are rabbits, crows are sure to follow. Two crows in the backyard. Something was up.
I found what was left of you on the lawn under the shade of the ash tree. You were fully grown now, able to take care of yourself, flee from danger. The ginger fur scattered over the lawn and bushes told me whatever took you was particularly savage, your talent for survival and escape proving not enough for you this time.
I buried you in the garden bed close to where you were born. You weren’t supposed to be here, yet you were. As the soil covered your maimed form, my final glimpse of you was your white tail, the last I ever caught of you every time you dove for cover.
I don’t know who took you. The damage suggested a dog, not a crow. Crows clean up, rather than go in for the kill. Whatever took you did so because that’s what they do. I’m sorry it happened when I must have been asleep. If it had happened when I was awake, I would have likely stepped in to protect you.
As I wash the soil from my hands, I tell myself I know you were never supposed to have been here. That didn’t mean you deserved anything other than a life of happy plenty, though.
Good bye, little friend.