I thought of you this morning as I worked in the garden; I thought particularly of you as I worked in the tomatoes. As Patrick Revere used to say when contemplating predators, “All God’s creatures gotta eat.” Patrick’s words make sense to me, they made sense when I first heard them and they still make sense – but you, dear critter, don’t make sense.
Vickie and I put a lot of work into the garden. Constructing raised beds, hauling soil, amending soil, fertilizing; most of my weekends last fall and early winter were devoted to preparing the garden. Dear critter (shall I call you Peter?), in line with dear Patrick’s words I don’t begrudge you a tomato, but I most certainly begrudge your licentious destructive rapacious spoilage of tomatoes throughout the garden – a bite here, two bites there, a half-eaten tomato on this vine, three half-eaten tomatoes on that vine – this behavior is what I begrudge.
Farmer MacGregor where are you? I’m beginning to understand that you are the victim of a smear campaign funded by wealthy rabbits who paid Beatrix Potter to present their wanton behavior in a sympathetic light designed to brainwash children and unsuspecting parents. A dupe no longer shall I be! I will throw off the shackles of childhood romantic notions of dear sweet little bunnies out on an innocent day of play in MacGregor’s garden – I will call you what you are – hordes of Attila the Hun.