Ron Middleton and the Harvest Rabbit!

As I was watching oats into the grain store yesterday, I was joined by an old friend. Mick and I go back over thirty years, and as happens when two old farts get together, we reminisced. Years ago the combine harvesters were smaller, harvest was a more drawn-out affair and the fields were alive with rabbits. We spoke of dear old Ron Middleton, and how during harvest he used to walk alongside the combine hoping to bag a rabbit or two for the pot…

Like a slightly arthritic,
Elma Fudd,
Ron walks beside the combine,
Waiting for a rabbit,
To show itself.
Tommy,
(Who used to drive the harvester),
Toots his horn,
To announce a sighting.
Ron steadies himself,
Raises the shotgun in anticipation,
And slides the safety catch to ‘off’.
The rabbit shows itself,
In front of the hungry machine,
Hoppity hoppity hop!
Bang!
Bang!
The rabbit looks around,
Its ears erect,
Dirt,
Straw and chaff,
Spray the area.
With resignation,
And a shrug of its rabbit shoulder,
The rabbit vanishes into the hedge!
For the next five minutes,
Old Ron,
Searches the long grass,
For a result,
That never was!
On the far side of the hedge,
The rabbit,
Unaware if this frantic activity,
Is on its way home,
For tea!
Hoppity hoppity hop!

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