The sun was bright, the sky was blue, not even a cloud to spoil the view, but it was monkeys, brass monkeys in my heart! Never mind that is was perishingly cold, a hare is not just for Boxing Day it's for life and we there ring-side seat ready for the main bout, top prize the Meon Valley belt.
Tucked into the hedge we counted seven hares loosely grouped at the top of the field, most were resting, nibbling or grooming their impossibly long ears, but one pair was sparring. We watched as they began a frenetic interweaving dance, punctuated by sessions of duffing-up - wonderfully endearing and very amusing, just what we had come out to witness. His antics appeared to have the desired effect and the Jill gave him the 'come up and see me sometime' nod. To be frank, he wasn't that good at it! Although he humped energetically away for about twenty minutes, most of his efforts were well wide of the mark. Eventually, whether more by luck than judgement the Jack had his Geoff Hurst moment - 'they think it's all over. It is now' and with a wiggle of her tail and nose in the air she loped off, it certainly was all over.
Sketches and notes of all these activities were frantically made, most of which are too raunchy to post here and would result in a knock at the door by the local constabulary. So, I will only post some of the less shocking sketches for now, but our appetite is well and truely whetted, who knows what we'll post once all the hare bears start up.
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