"Commercial fishing starved them into bush meat hunting and that got them Ebola."
When the last sunrays of the day kiss the heathland, when the greens and purples melt into grey under the moonlight, that's when the warren empties and the rabbits are out to forage and play. They move slowly, lolloping in their sweet way, nibbling as they go. At the slightest noise they're up on their hind legs, seeing in more directions than I can. Sometimes I watch them for a while, enjoy this art of creation. Just because I need to eat, it doesn't mean I don't love nature. Then I take aim, one bullet, kind and quick, job done. They scatter after that and I don't have the patience to stick around for more. Si keeps telling me to set traps instead, but I like my stake-out ritual, and to be honest, knots have never been my thing.