If you drove down our farm road in England in the early morning hours of springtime you had to be on your toes not to hit the dozens of tiny bunnies that dodged into your path. Or at least I made everyone navigate with exceptional care, being sure to warn them loudly when I saw one bounce out onto the gravel. It might sound silly but I loved seeing those little fur babies darting into the hedgerows. 

Two years in a row now, since we have been back in the States, I have found some little wild hares at the thrift shop that remind me of an old Georgian farmhouse on the fens of Suffolk. In the springtime they come out again.