William grabbed the water hose and garden hoe. No rain again today. None for the last two weeks, along with afternoon highs in the nineties.

The carefully planned garden in the corner of the yard, the envy of his suburban neighbors, was a showplace of color and symmetry last month. It now looked like a blighted wasteland, despite his conscientious daily watering. William’s spirits were as wilted as the rosebuds. His prized fuschia Knockouts were down for the count.

He wiped his forehead with a grimy handkerchief and surveyed the damage. Bright impatiens, delicate lobelias, portulacas and petunias, withered, ruined. He dropped the hose and bent down for a closer look. The formerly hardy leaves of all his sedum, the only plants holding their own during the dry spell, except the weeds, were jagged, apparently chewed.

A slight movement from the edge of his vision caught his attention. William’s face flushed. He stood up quickly, turning from side to side, and saw the culprit three feet to his left, perfectly still, poised to bolt. Grabbing the hoe, he lunged toward the dun-colored rabbit with unbridled fury.

“Daddy! Did you see the pretty bunny? Can we catch it?”

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