I was doing a site consultation for clients in Wauwatosa, and while we were chatting, the cutest little baby bunny hoppity-hopped in front of us. The wife pointed out the hole in the lawn where the family of rabbits lived and said they had been enjoying watching the babies grow up. I asked if they had any problems with the little guys eating their plants. She said no, right as I witnessed the fluffy, scallywag bounce away with a piece of delphinium hanging out of its mouth. Such is the plight of soft-hearted urbanites.

Since they weren't willing to take unsavory actions, I suggested they start using repellents on the tastier plants in the yard and put piles of lettuce and carrots by their den, in hopes that it will discourage them from turning the yard into a buffet. My mom uses this technique. It has varying success (don't put the food near your vegetable garden or landscape plants because the carrots will be mere appetizers). Mom has named her resident rabbit Arthur (after my great-uncle who used to live in the house) and swears it is the same one every year. The rabbit sits outside her kitchen window and when he sees her he sits up on his hind legs, looking adorable, begging.

I wage a less diplomatic war with those "wascally wabbits". Every day, after putting in long hours at the nursery, I pull the car into my driveway, grab the paperwork I brought home (remembering at the last second not to lock my keys in the car) already anticipating the cold beverage that will be waiting for me. Then I see him. Without fail, Mr. Rabbit is sitting in my back yard, wide-eyed, frozen mid-bite with a mouthful of my garden. For a while it was just him. Now he has a girlfriend. I think they have started a family on the other side of the fence, in my neighbor's yard.