No right to life.

Autumnwatch last evening: brilliant TV but how I wished I had a camcorder the other day - I could have contributed tot he program.

Dee called me upstairs, looking out over the lawn and surrounding shrubbery. In the centre of the lawn was a rabbit, stock still, peering fixedly with ears cocked into the bushes. Soon enough we could see why. A red-brown pencil of an animal, white chested, appeared to have gone crazy. Mr (or Mrs) Weasel flashed in and out of the shrubbery, wheeling and tumbling, sometimes momentarily standing on its hind legs like a meercat.

We agreed with some certainty that this peculiar weasel dance must have been intended to hypnotise his ten times larger prey, and if so it definitely succeeded. Last seen the rabbit shook its head, hopped off to the bushes and presumably to certain death. Dee was all in favour of rushing out to try to scare off both hunter and hunted. Me? Whatever will be will be. Nothing living has a right to life, contrary to human pronouncement. Or to anything else.

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