I’ve become obsessed with photographing the frolicking bunnies on my parents’ lawn; this is the cache from which HP (not for Hannibal) the cat has been murdering rabbits and feeding them to Flicka the dog. I went out to take pictures of the rabbits yesterday and despite a much stronger zoom, they still looked a long way off and my shaky hand skills meant they weren’t exactly sharp. Anyway the lovely fluffies scarpered the minute my foot hit the gravel so I sat on the lawn instead for 40 minutes hoping the rabbits would think I was a tree or something and venture back out. Flicka sat with me – I got so bored I photographed her, a blackbird and some daisies. I'll spare you the daisies...
Flicka is a bit daft. She doesn’t seem to associate the rabbits with the dead things that Hannibal, I mean, HP offers her and which Flicka then devours whole. Actually perhaps I’m maligning Flicka. Her ancestors weren’t bred to hunt … she’s Alsatian cross Collie so she tries to herd us all and she’s very emotionally sensitive. When any of the household gets upset she comes to comfort them, and often cries quietly alongside them until they forget their woes and tickle her tummy.
The new camera’s lovely but I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that it’s not a miracle worker. I will shoot a blasted bunny before my holiday is over. I think photographers world wide are 
safe.
safe.
