An Observation On Baby Rabbits 
Leaving The Nest

Kelly Wionzek


 
© Copyright 2024 by Kelly Wionzek

 Photo of baby cottontail courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo of baby cottontail courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Several days ago I had the privilege of stumbling upon a nest of baby cottontails. Although having fur, the ears were short and they were blind.

Leaving them be, only checking their progress occasionally, we verified that the mother was feeding them during the night by leaving twig patterns on the nest. Over the days, she seemed to leave the yard later and later in the morning until one day she did not leave at all.

On that particular morning my girlfriend looked out the window and saw the neighbourhood gang of crows attacking the warren. She shood them away in time to save all the babies and we observed that the nest had been laid open quite neatly. The babies were well developed with open eyes and noticeable ears. The mother sat calmy on the other side of the yard, watching.

I quickly came to realize that the mother had deliberately opened the nest. Why would she do this? Was she rejecting the babies? If so, why? But then, she was hanging around. She was definitely very calm, not frantic.

Then it came clear. She opened the nest because it was time the babies were weaned. Her hiding place had been ideal and her babies had grown healthy. Most likely, the coming through of their teeth was becoming uncomfortable.

What is the most valuable preservation instinct a rabbit can have? The ability to flee and hide. This was her way of teaching her babies their most important skill. An attack by crows or other predators, with possibly a fatality, would cause the rest of the nest to scatter and hide.

Our aborted crow attack, although maybe saving the life of a baby rabbit, had disrupted their weaning process. We watched for the rest of the day as the young lay huddled in the nest, exposed to the direct sun. They refused to budge. The crows did not return, them having other nests of more interest.

The next morning, I decided to step in. Taking the topmost baby, who happened to be the runt, out of the nest, I placed it on the ground about three feet away from the burrow. It looked around and crawled back into the nest, where it tried to burrow in to the mound of undulating fur and eventually did. Some eyes stared up at me.

Later that evening my girlfriend observed one of the babies on the lawn near the mother but by the next moring the nest was full again and the sun was beating down hotly on the exposed young ones. The mother was still there, on the other side of the lawn. It was time to simulate a crow attack, sans mortality.*

I broke up the nest, pulling the babies out and placing them on the ground one at a time. As they landed, each of them made a short sprint to the cover of the fence several feet away. To my surprise, instead of the three that I had thought were there, five made their appearance. One fellow went a little further than the others, making his way to a corner where the grass was a bit longer. He disappeared quite nicely. The other four huddled into the small gap between the crossboard and the ground. Over the next few hours they made themselves very unnoticeable. The only apparent giveaway was their dark, peering eyes, the rest of them looking like some dried grass. The mother rabbit had disappeared and was nowhere in sight.

Over the next few days the babies remained in their (partial) concealment, sometimes bunched in twos and threes, sometimes alone. I observed some eating and gradually they began to disappear.

Knowing they would be gone soon and unable to resist the cuteness, I picked one up. It remained docile in my hand as I examined it. I put the kit down and it scampered back to the fence where it remained still as it looked at me.

Later that day I decided to show my girlfriend one of the babies. We went over to the fence and I picked one up. Inadvertently and not thinking, I stood up with the kit in my hand. It leapt out of my grasp, falling about a yard to the ground. As it hit the ground it emitted a loud two sylable squeak sounding much like one would get when pressing and releasing a squeeze doll. It scrambled back to the fence and it tried to burrow in, head first, like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. We approached, fearful that the poor little guy was injured but as we came closer it turned to face us.

As it did not appear to be in pain the decision was made to leave it alone but with close monitoring. It seemed to remain there for another day or so, before venturing away with its siblings.

The second last to go was evicted from the corner by myself. When I came near and reached into the clump of grass there, he shot out, scampering along the fence line. The durability of baby bunnies was proven by his head first collision with a fence post, which stopped and stunned him for a few seconds. Then, the pursued rabbit recovered and charged into a patch of wild brush we had at the other end of the yard. The bushes stilled and I knew my little fellow had frozen. Peering carefully into them, without moving, I eventually found the small creature. More meticulous searching found another of the brood.

The final young rabbit remained for about a day more and the last we saw of it was in the evening. Returning from a bike ride, we surprised it in the middle of the lawn. The animal remained frozen and maintained the appearance of a clump of earth.

That was the last of the young but the following day we spotted the mother contentedly grazing in the yard. She ignored us as we sat on the deck.

Reflecting upon this most enlightening experience, I came to realize that not only had this brood got to learn lesson number one of rabbit self-preservation but lesson number two as well. When the baby rabbit hit the ground it emitted a 'death cry', the only time a rabbit will ever utter a sound. Our poor little fellow, upon his fall to the ground, thought he had it. This call, to other rabbits, is a signal of danger and a warning to flee.

The babies were not seen again although coming home from work late one night, I believe I saw something that looked like a tiny rabbit zip across the lawn.

*****

*As an aside note, I will state that at this time I was unaware of the white star on the forehead and can only say I do recall viewing some at nest break up. In a natural situation, it is probable that these creatures would have not survived.


Kel D. Orbis is the fiction pen name of Kelly Wionzek.  Kel was born in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada.  Putting pen to paper casually since the early 1970's, Kel has written a number of trade articles for the Canadian Coin News magazine. He won a radio play contest for his work Checkmate in 1988 and placed poetry in the anthology Forever Spoken. He has also published feature articles in Fine Scale Modeler magazine. Most recently, Fortunate One was awarded second in a contest. Kel publishes a monthly Blog about the Vikings in North America on his website www.thevintagecollection.ca.  Focusing more heavily on the writing field in 2003, Kel authored a number of fiction short stories before tackling, completing and publishing his first book, a non fiction work that details the Norse in Newfoundland, Kjalarnes Found in 2017.  The firstdition of the historical novel Yasgur's Farm was published in 2018.  An avid historian, Kel’s fields of expertise include early aviation, Ancient Rome, Britain and Greece as well as the Vikings. He has given several public presentations, teaches in educational programs and works with museums in advisory and display capacities.  "My Genre is history, past, present and future. When I write I go anywhere from a million years in the past to thousands yet to come. Who knows where the next story comes from and what it will be about."   Kel currently lives in Broadview, Saskatchewan, Canada where he continues to pursue his writing and other disciplines.



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