Foxglove

Past the sleeping church and the allotments, the sheep fields full of ewes and lambs, the track took us to the more private places that we love so well.

Here rabbits fed in the crops, eating out semicircles close by their warrens, and the dog looked at me for permission to go. The wheat was not yet in head, though it would not be long, and once that stage is reached, a dog can do some damage.

So, mindful of the farmer's livelihood, I call her back, knowing also that the next few fields would be suitable to allow her free rein. Rabbits slick and dark with dew run out of the wheat as we approach, lining up to ping over the rabbit-fencing that was supposed to stop them.

Rabbit-fencing has to be higher and dug in deeper than you might imagine, if it is truly to keep the rabbits out. We cross the ditch, and after checking that it is safe, I send the dog forward.

Here she can do no damage except to rabbits, and I can watch her at her work, the job she loves and the reason for her existence. There are rabbits of all sizes and ages hiding in the long weeds and grass, and the landowner does not want any of them.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette June 18