We need to talk. I understand that we are in the middle of a terrible drought. In deference to that, and because I love little woodland creatures…at least those who don’t try to sting, bite, or maim me…I have conscientiously provided you with clean, fresh water every day. And I rejoice with you that my trees provide enough shade to keep at least some of the lawn green and snackable for you. I have watched you with interest and, in the way silly humans do, I’ve even given you dopey cute names. Yes, Stripey, Brindle and Scamper, I am talking to you.
But we have a problem. You know those three tomato plants I have by the garage? The ones that I also conscientiously provide with water? And check twice a day? And treat with love and affection because let’s be honest, tomato plants are among the very few plants in the universe that I don’t kill just by looking at them? Well, I couldn’t help but notice that the two tomatoes that were just starting to ripen broke out in a rash overnight. It was a funny rash that almost looked like bunny teeth had raked through them over and over and over again. Not that I’m making accusations or anything. It was merely a coincidence, I’m sure.
Here’s the deal. This afternoon I spent thirty bucks and a solid hour under the blazing sun purchasing and putting up chicken wire and posts and landscape timbers and various oddments around those tomato plants; not to offend you, but to set up sort of a…a tomato ICU. To keep the rash away. And also to discourage any strange bunnies—not you three, of course, because you know better—that might wander in and try to steal a nibble or two.
Anyway I just wanted to let you know what I was doing, and no hard feelings or anything. As a neighborly gesture, I hope you’ll keep an eye on things and make sure that the more ignorant of your brethren know not to try and dig under the fence or touch the tomatoes. Because out of all the snackable plants in the yard, the tomatoes, and only the tomatoes, are mine.
Oh, one last little thing. If the fence receives any abuse, or if the rash comes back, you can expect landmines, claymores, and possibly a machine gun nest. It will get very…tactical. This may be Wisconsin, but I’m from Philly and I know people. People who don’t like little bunnies. People who have connections with other people who don’t like little bunnies. People who demand respect, cause if you ain’t got respect, you ain’t got nothin’. Capische?
I’m glad we had this little talk. Have a great evening.