Slowly stalking through the high grass, I moved with care. Snakes. There were a few in the shed this year, one now dead, and a warning to others. Head chopped off at the swing of a shovel. It’s nice to know my wife has balls. Thirteen rattles; it’s meager body not enough for food. Must be the drought. Sun beats down on the land and creatures like it has no mercy, the skin of the earth flies up as sandy dust across the prairie. This is life on the front lines of a raging, aging battle. Like a bullet, Charley scampered out of the truck into the dry prickly foliage, the white fur on its tail side bobbed up in down as it raced toward the wood pile and better cover. Its brindle coat blended in with the yellow drying shrubbery, a shelter and a trap all at the same time. The rabbit provided our mixed-breed hound the chance to exercise his sniffer and his stubby legs; he’s never caught one and probably knows he never will. Still the rabbit saw a slobbery growling face as a threat, as well he should. He doesn’t know when the game might turn serious, and our old mutt remembers his roots as a hunter, or dare I say, predator. After years of kibble, he doesn’t know the taste of wild flesh, and frankly, we’d like to keep it that way. Who knows when one day that rabbit might be food for us, the way things are going. Zombie apocalypse. Don’t rule it out. Rumors of a food shortage, and a wrecked supply chain because… There are a lot reasons. Mainly that humans have acted stupidly. The friendly faced dog still looked like a monster to the rabbit when he’s afraid. The rabbit knows eventually the monster will leave, like he always does, the motor of the truck a solid clue. A honk. Then a yelp. Then silence. An occasional bird song. There’s one key thing that I have observed, though, in Mr. Hip Hop’s world: When he’s done foraging in the patch of green, and protection becomes a factor because on the farm we’ve been busy clearing out the dead wood and junk around his home, then he’ll move along. However, I don’t think his focus would be on death. That’s an abstract concept. He doesn’t have the time – no such luxury. The moment’s here. The moment’s gone. See, rabbit’s don’t know or care about a mortgage, a car payment, don’t go to malls, don’t shop online, and don’t keep their food on ice. What dumb bunny does that? In my view, when I’m not terribly steeped in thought, I ask, what’s so bad about being a rabbit on the run?