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In a letter to me (March 8, 1905) Mr. Drane says: ' I have kept captive
Hares as pets for the last sixteen years, and have become very intimate with
them. I have the very greatest liking for them; they are very gentlemen, just as
the rabbit is a very cad. Their hearts are difficult to win, as they are so nervous,
and are in fact mad with extreme sensitiveness; but they can be won, and my
Hares have been as confident to me as any kitten is to a child, but even then
wild to anyone else.’ Speaking of the tamest of his Hares, a doe which he
reared from infancy, Mr. Drane says:
* In its disposition it is pacific, trustful, and affectionate in a most touching
degree when its heart has been gained, and indeed even when it has not. My
Hare will always lick my hand in response to a caress, and by the same habit
silently appeal to me for protection in any apprehended danger, as the presence
of a stranger or of some person whom it distrusts or dislikes. It never attempts
to bite; but it is not without its means of offence and defence.’
There is no doubt that Hares are difficult to tame, and from their very
sensitiveness require extraordinary patience on the part of their tutor before this
friendly stage is reached. The poet Cowper never seems to have attained this
happy result with one of his pets, for he writes of one which he kept for ten
years: ' The surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack Hare.
‘ Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And when he could would bite.’
A short and excellent account of Hares in confinement was contributed by
V. T. to the ‘ Field ’ in May 1902, and in this he gives his experience of their
natures:
' In August last a keeper brought me two leverets only just able to feed
themselves. They had been captured in a field of long clover, their mother being
with them at the time. I put them into a low, wide tin bath, wired all round
and over the top. They were at first terrified, and sat huddled together for the
remainder of the day and night, refusing food of any sort. In the early hours
of the morning I succeeded in feeding them with some warm milk— and again
later— till, by degrees, they began to nibble clover. I tamed them by slow stages,
till they would eat from my hand and let me nurse them. But as their fear of
me gradually diminished I was amazed to find how forcibly and persistently they
were prepared to resent interference. They flew at me, bit and scratched me,
making a most peculiar hissing sound, and so ferocious and hurtful were their
attacks that I was forced to defend myself with a pair of thick gloves.
‘ Then followed a series of boxing matches, the assaults upon me frequently
lasting several minutes, with periodical rests, when they would retreat to a corner,
regain their wind, and attack me again more savagely than before. When
completely beaten, they would let me stroke them and lick my hand as usual,
and be friends again.
‘ One of these Hares is now a most engaging animal, knows me perfectly, and
will jump up on to my knee, climb up and kiss me when told, sit up and beg,
jump through a hoop, and shake hands, always giving the right paw. It will
also seek its food when I hide it, and does all in its power to show its affection
for me. It lives in the house, is loose all day, and thoroughly enjoys a good
roll on the rug, where it frequently lies stretched full length before the fire. It
also plays with two retriever dogs, of whom it has no fear whatever, and often
lies between them while asleep. I am sorry to say that the gardener let its
companion escape one day during my absence.
‘ In the early part of last December I received two full-grown wild Hares
from Norfolk, and I was anxious to discover if it were possible to tame and train
them. They sulked for a week, eating little, but I kept them near me, and by
degrees tamed them, teaching them to feed from my hand, come to me when
called, and sit quietly on my shoulder while I carried them about.
‘ Then, as with the others, when all fear of me had left them, the real
trouble commenced; they flew at me, biting and scratching, and making that
grunting and “ hissing” sound already mentioned. Very slowly, almost despairingly
so, we made friends, but unfortunately this friendship is not extended to
others, who are treated with scant courtesy if they interfere with them. They
know me very well, and will sniff my hand or my clothes most noticeably before
allowing themselves to be touched. They possess keen intelligence, rare cunning,
and a dogged determination that I have not seen equalled in any other animal.
They have a peculiar method of indicating irritation or fear; unlike rabbits,
which stamp their hind feet in a similar predicament, they make a loud rasping
or grating sound with their teeth, which is instantly received by the others as
a signal of alarm.’