DÚLRA knows a guy who, every time he drives past cute lambs running in the fields, rubs his stomach and says he suddenly feels hungry – to the consternation of his kids in the car!
And in a way, that’s how Dúlra feels about rabbits. He spotted one on the Black Mountain this week – a strong, healthy animal happily munching on the mountain’s endless grass and wildflowers – and he got a hunger pang.
Well, at least he got a flashback to a time when some of those rabbits would end up in a pot at home.
A time when we’d go up there with a pack of dogs and as often as not return with something for dinner.
We didn’t go to hunt rabbits – we just went up the hills with the dogs for company. It was always an adventure up here, where you entered a new world filled with birds and flowers and wild animals. No trip was futile – you’d add to your knowledge every time, even if it was just a bird’s call you’d never heard before or a flower you’d never seen before.
But we’d rarely come back empty-handed – during our unplanned trek across the hills, a rabbit would usually succumb to the ragtag pack of Andytown street dogs. The dead animals weren't always Dúlra’s to claim, but every so often he'd arrive home carrying a Black Mountain rabbit.
Rabbits have always flourished on the lower slopes of Black Mountain. The fields here were largely forgotten by farmers because moving cattle across the Upper Springfield Road became too dangerous. And in the absence of cows, blackberry ditches gradually took ownership, creeping over the grass year after year like an incoming tide.
Those ditches were impenetrable – except for rabbits. And terriers. The wee dogs would charge through ‘runs’ made by the rabbits in the ditches, often forcing their foe out and into the jaws of one of the bigger dogs waiting on the other side.
It took the dogs to play to their strengths and to cooperate – and only the smartest dogs did that well. A good partnership was deadly.
Those same dogs never caught a hare and Dúlra is glad for that. The rabbits live on the lower slopes, but as soon as you head towards the summit, they give way to hares. The dogs would race after them but were always outrun, and eventually they’d return panting and totally exhausted.
None of our dogs were pedigrees like greyhounds that were bred to hunt. They were just family pets from nearby homes who loved going up the mountains as much as we did!
Dúlra’s offering to the pack was a wee Jack Russell, Digger, who would race through those thorny ditches at full speed, barking like mad at the rabbit he’d never catch.
A rabbit was always welcome in Dúlra’s house. He’d skin it out the back and wash it in the sink, and then it would go into a pot in the oven where it would roast for a couple of hours with just onions for company.
It was never something for Sunday dinner – by the time it was cooked it was usually late in the evening and we’d tuck into it with bread. The only place you can eat rabbit nowadays are in the fanciest restaurants – but none of them will ever come close to the Black Mountain roasted rabbit, garnished with onions and spooned up with bread.
• A reader was in rural County Antrim this week when they spotted a rare bird – ‘spotted’ being the perfect word. It was a spotted flycatcher, cuilire liath – a bird which, like the swift, lives solely on flies. But rather than spending its life on the wing, this bird likes forests where it finds a perch and jumps up to catch passing flies.
• The grasshoppers in Dúlra’s garden are loving life. Climate change isn’t doing them any harm – and the fact that the lawnmower is broken is certainly an added bonus! It’s amazing that we can have these ‘country’ creatures in our own gardens – in Dúlra’s case it just took letting one corner go wild and they appeared. Give it a try – you won’t regret it.
If you’ve seen or photographed anything interesting, or have any nature questions, you can text Dúlra on 07801 414804.
