She hopped along behind the rabbit in imitation of its long-eared, long-footed gait. When the rabbit stopped to nibble at the young shoots of grass, she did the same. This is how her mother found her, face to the ground, knees tucked under her chest.
“What are you up to, my little bunny?” her mother asked.
“I’m eating breakfast,” she said. “Do you have any carrots? We rabbits adore carrots.”
Her mother rummaged around in the picnic basket at her side. “Here, I think this will do.”
The girl hopped over to her mother, perched on her knees, twitched her little rabbit nose, and proceeded to reach for the carrot with her teeth.
“Be careful,” her mother said. “I should have to make a stew out of you if you nip me.”
“Mother!” The girl bit into the carrot and hopped away to munch on the crisp vegetable. “May I give some to the other rabbits?”
“Oh, that wouldn’t do,” mother said. “Those are wild rabbits, and we don’t feed wild things. Wild things feed themselves on what God provides for them. If we feed them, they won’t be wild anymore.”
She puzzled for a bit, crunched another bite of carrot, then said, “But I am a wild thing and you feed me. Will I stop being wild someday?”
“I certainly hope not,” mother said. “You are my favorite wild thing. God has provided you with a mother to feed you then.”
She smiled in reflection to her mother’s smile and hopped about in the yard.
“Some day I may stop being a rabbit,” she said, stopping to look back at her mother.
“Oh, yes. I know,” her mother said, twitching her grown up mother nose. “And that will be a sad day for all the rabbit world.”