During a recent visit to South Carolina, I happened upon an Eastern cottontail rabbit as s/he sat among vegetation at the border of a foot-path and coastal woods. Setting up my nature-watching telescope about 15 meters away, I was able to watch the rabbit up close and uninterrupted for about 12 minutes. It was a precious glimpse into a quiet chapter of this herbivore’s life.

The rabbit’s coat was a uniform brown except for a more reddish patch between her shoulders. When she faced me I could see the perfect crystal curve of her huge brown eyes, through which I felt I was gazing into the soul of another being. She never blinked in all the time I watched her, though at one point she squinted when her face brushed against a tall grass stem. Her ears, backlit by the morning sun, shone pink, and I could see a network of blood vessels in them. She swiveled them independently at the slightest sounds, but her demeanor looked calm and content.  

She spent most of the time nibbling at the ground vegetation lining the footpath, and I noted that she carefully sniffed and selected each individual morsel she ate. She chose four different plants, including grass stems, what appeared to be dandelion, and an unknown herb. Her favorite was a plant with glossy round leaves, ubiquitous here. She must have eaten 30 of these during this particular “silflay (a term coined by Richard Adams in Watership Down). She would deftly nip the stem and quickly work her way to the leaf, which would bend like a taco as it briefly pried her lips apart. She was able to take her entire meal without moving more than a foot.

She finished and hopped into the undergrowth. I walked to where she had stood and there was no visible trace of her presence. I plucked one of the round leaves and tasted it. It was quite palatable, with a hint of celery. Here had been another being, getting on with life and, like me, enjoying the moment.