Rabbit

We tried to dissuade her from building a burrow in our front yard.
The Husband filled the hole several times. The rabbit dug it back out.
The Husband set a board over the hole. She shoved it over.
Finally, when The Husband placed a rock in the hole (after making sure nothing living was inside of it), the rabbit abandoned the quest.

And dug a new hole five inches north of the rock.

We let her have that one.
She was determined, and she had earned it.

The hole (roughly the size of a quart jar) stayed empty for some time.  We know because we peeked into it daily.
Just when we started wondering if it really was a rabbit hole ("Did you ever see a rabbit digging it out?" "No, I've never seen an actul rabbit anywhere near it."), we found her sitting on it.

Today its entrance is tucked shut with fur.
We think we see movement way down in there. If we squint. And wait.  Long enough.

We hadn't wanted her there, but now that  her babies *are*, we can't help but feel protective.

The next door lady's cat?
Gets shooed out of our normally welcome yard.

Crows?
Here comes the crazy lady with a broom.
(It's a good show for the neighbors.)

Tonight, it's raining.
The Husband, this wonderful man I married, sheepishly remarked that he had considered propping some canvas over the hole to keep it from flooding.
"But that would be silly," he said.
I replied, "I was one pair of scissors away from converting our laundry basket into a canopy, myself."

We constructed neither, because this is nature. Animals have been doing this forever.  Circle of life, blah blah blah.

So, I sit here listening to the rain.
I think about what's happening under the bundle of fluff, what their mother is doing, and where she's keeping dry tonight.

Good luck, bunny momma.

***

Updated 6/1/2016 to add for Jessica...

You can see 3 noses in a pyramid. 
You can't see it, but there is a 4th in the upper right of the hole.

One of them ventured out.  Momma was not far away.
(Pic is lousy because I was far away with a smartphone.)