Rabbit Stories for Kids

Ruby the rabbit was the fastest animal in the meadow. She knew it, and she made sure everyone else knew it too. She zoomed past the tortoises with a cheerful "Excuse me, coming through!" She lapped the hedgehogs. She challenged every creature she met to a race. She always won. One day the meadow animals decided they needed someone to deliver an important warning to the village on the far hill. A weasel had been spotted near the chicken coop, and the chickens needed to know. Everyone looked at Ruby. "Easily done," she said, and zoomed off. She ran so fast she overshot the path to the village and ended up at the wrong hill. She turned around and ran back. She ran so hard through the farmyard that she startled the chickens worse than any weasel would have, and they scattered in all directions. In the confusion, the message got garbled. Nobody was quite sure what the warning had been. The tortoise, Gus, arrived at the village an hour later. He'd found the right path by reading the stone markers carefully as he walked. He delivered the message in a clear, calm voice. The farmer came with his dog and chased off the weasel. The chickens were safe. Ruby sat on a fence post watching all of this. Gus climbed up beside her. "You're faster than me," he said. "I really am," Ruby said. "But I knew where I was going," he said, not unkindly. Ruby thought about this. She was quiet for a while, which was also not usually her way. "Next time," she said, "maybe I should ask the best way before I start running." "That would help a lot," Gus agreed. Ruby came to Gus for directions three times in the next week. She still ran everywhere. But she ran in the right direction.

Pip the rabbit was afraid of the dark. Not just a little afraid. Very, very afraid. When the sun went down, Pip went deep into the burrow and stayed there until morning, even if everyone else was still outside. The other young rabbits went out on warm summer evenings to watch fireflies and eat the dewy grass. Pip watched from the burrow entrance, nose twitching, not quite able to step out. One evening old Nan sat beside her at the entrance. "Why don't you come?" she asked. "It's dark," Pip said. "Yes," said Nan. "What's the scariest part?" Pip thought. "Not seeing what's there." "Ah," Nan said. "But your nose can smell things in the dark that your eyes would miss in daylight. And your ears hear things too." Pip flicked her ears. She could hear the grass moving. She could smell the cool earth and the dew and something sweet she thought might be clover. "Try one step," Nan said. Pip stepped out of the burrow. One step. She stood very still and listened and smelled. Everything her nose and ears told her felt familiar. "One more?" Nan suggested. Two steps. They stood outside for five minutes. Then ten. Then the fireflies came and Pip found she'd moved halfway into the meadow without noticing. She went back inside on her own terms when she was ready. Each evening after that she went a little further. By the end of the summer she was watching fireflies with the others, ears up, eyes bright. She was still sometimes afraid of the dark. But she'd learned it was a feeling she could walk through, one small hop at a time.

Clover the rabbit had found the most extraordinary vegetable garden. The gate was broken and she'd slipped inside and found rows of carrots, cabbages, and something red and round she didn't have a name for. She ate until she was full. Then she looked at all the food still there. She could come back. She could eat here every day. She could tell no one. She started to hop away. Then she thought of her neighbor, old Mr. Bramble, who had trouble getting to the meadow now that his back leg ached. She thought of the young mouse family who'd moved to the hedge and were still finding their way around. She stood at the gate for a long moment. She went home and came back with Mr. Bramble, moving slowly because he needed to. Then she found the mouse family and showed them the garden path. She brought her sister's three kits, who had never seen a carrot garden before and went absolutely wild with excitement. By the time everyone had eaten and explored and played among the cabbage rows, the garden was livelier than it had been in years. The birds in the apple tree at the garden's edge seemed to approve; they sang all afternoon. Going home, Mr. Bramble patted Clover's shoulder with one paw. "You could have kept it to yourself," he said. "I thought about it," Clover admitted. "Most do," he said. "But you didn't. That's the part that counts." Clover went home full and happy. She realized that eating wonderful carrots alone would have been nice. Eating wonderful carrots with everyone she cared about had been something else entirely. She'd have to find that garden again tomorrow.

Hazel the rabbit had lived on the meadow's edge her whole life and never once had a best friend. She had neighbors and acquaintances and animals she nodded to at the stream. But not a friend who knew her favorite things and her silly jokes and the way she always sneezed exactly three times when the dandelions were seeding. She'd started to wonder if she was just not very interesting. One rainy morning she found a hedgehog sitting under the big mushroom at the meadow edge. He was small and damp and looked like he'd rather be somewhere else. "Hello," she said. "Hello," he said. They looked at the rain for a while. "I'm Hazel." "I'm Tom." More rain. Then: "I love rain," Hazel said. "I know it's unusual for a rabbit. The burrow floods sometimes. But I love the sound of it." Tom turned to look at her. "I love it too. I curl up and just listen for hours." "Really?" Hazel said. "Everyone thinks I should hate it. Too cold. Too wet. But there's something about the sound that makes everything feel quiet." Hazel had never told anyone she loved the rain. She'd assumed they'd think it was odd. They sat under the mushroom for an hour while the rain came down. They talked about sounds they liked (Tom also loved thunder from a distance) and smells they liked (Hazel loved the smell right before rain started, that sharp green smell) and foods they thought were underrated (both agreed the purple berries near the old stone wall were excellent). When the rain stopped, Tom uncurled slowly. "Same spot next rain?" he asked. "Yes," said Hazel. She hopped home quickly because she was smiling too much for anyone to see.

The stone bridge over the meadow stream had a loose stone that wobbled when you stepped on it. Everyone in the meadow complained about it. "That loose stone again," said the fox. "Honestly, something should be done," said the pheasant. "Terribly annoying," said the squirrel. Everyone agreed it was a problem. Nobody did anything about it. Benny the rabbit stepped on the loose stone one morning, felt it wobble, and said to himself: "I wonder how hard it would be to fix." He poked at the stone. It was loose in a bed of old crumbled mortar. If the mortar were repacked, the stone would hold. He wasn't a builder. He had no tools. He thought about this for a few minutes. He went and found the beaver family, who were excellent at understanding how water and stone fit together. He found the mole family, who knew about soil and packing and what held things in place underground. He asked both families if they'd take a look with him. They came. The beavers said the stone needed new mudpacked clay underneath. The moles said the edges needed tamping down. Between the three families, they spent one afternoon fixing the bridge. The next morning the fox, the pheasant, and the squirrel crossed the bridge. "Oh look," said the fox. "The loose stone is fixed." "So it is," said the squirrel. They all crossed without comment and went on with their days. Benny watched from the meadow grass. He didn't need them to say thank you, exactly. But he did feel the particular satisfaction of being the animal who'd noticed the problem, found the people who could help, and made something better. That felt more useful than complaining.