So, let’s talk about jack rabbits, shall we? It’s a bit of a wild story how I ended up so fascinated by these creatures. You know how it goes—you’re minding your own business, promising to think about animals, and suddenly, you’re consumed by the thought of jack rabbits. And yet, the irony! I missed plain old rabbits entirely at first. I say “rabbit hole” how often and missed this??? But don’t worry, we’ll get to those floppy-eared speed demons soon enough because, living in Alberta, they’re kind of hard to miss.

Now, here’s the thing about jack rabbits. They’re not even technically rabbits; they’re hares. I know, scandalous! Their name is lying to us. But seriously, these guys are something else. They’re the parkour athletes of the animal kingdom, bounding around on those ridiculously strong legs like they’ve just mainlined an energy drink. And don’t let their fluffy exteriors fool you—they can pack a kick so powerful it would make a martial artist jealous. You get too close, and bam, you’re in a live-action kung fu movie, starring you… and your bruised shins. Thankfully not a lesson I had to learn firsthand. I have always let them approach me, because for some reason they do.

I won’t forget sitting outside reading on one summer afternoon and so lost in my book I did not see this jack rabbit coming up slowly to me, not until it jumped into my lap making me jump as it settled down. Then when I didn’t start to pet it? It nudged my hand and arm until I got the hint it wanted me to touch it. I was a bit nervous after all wild animals aren’t always safe to be near no matter how cute they are. It was such a fun experience and not a one time deal either, now I don’t jump and I just wait for the first nudge to pet them. Yes I now carry hand sanitizer with me when I go to read outside.

I encountered one on a frosty morning when I was still waking up with a cup of coffee in hand. There it was, perched like some kind of mystical creature at the edge of my yard, ears twitching dramatically as if listening to a secret symphony only jack rabbits are privy to. At first glance, it looked like a fuzzy loaf of bread with ears—and then it moved. Not hopped. Moved. It shot across the yard like it had a personal vendetta against stillness, all legs and speed, an aerodynamic blur. If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I’d have sworn it was just a gust of wind disguised as a hare. Because I do like to pick shapes out of the snow like people do with cloud watching it is a fun thing to do.

Now Alberta, as you might know, is home to a healthy population of these long-legged critters. They’re everywhere. Parks, residential areas, parking lots—basically anywhere that seems like it shouldn’t host wildlife. And they’re not shy. Oh no, these are not the bashful bunnies of children’s books. They’ll strut right into your garden like they own the place, give your tulips a good sniff, and then look at you as if to say, “This is my yard now, deal with it.” Their audacity knows no bounds.

And that reminds me! If you ever feel inclined to feed these guys—don’t. I know, I know, cartoons have lied to us all. Carrots and lettuce, as it turns out, aren’t the superfoods for rabbits and hares that Bugs Bunny would have you believe. Lettuce, in particular, can mess with their digestive systems. Who knew? I did once leave a shredded carrot out just to test the waters (don’t judge me, I was curious), and the jack rabbit in question sniffed it, tilted its head with visible judgment, and hopped away. I mean, the nerve. I’m basically offering it a gift, and it treats me like I’m some kind of amateur wildlife caterer. I was seven, I think.

Speaking of their dietary habits, they’re strictly herbivores but not above a little chaos when they eat. They’ll munch on clover, grasses, bark—basically, anything they deem delicious and vegetation-like. In the winter, when the landscape looks like an extended feature presentation of Snow: The Movie, they adapt by nibbling on twigs and whatever foliage they can scrape up. Honestly, their survival skills are kind of enviable. Meanwhile, I struggle to survive a winter that doesn’t include endless mugs of hot chocolate and an obscene amount of layering even if it is my favorite season.

But where jack rabbits really shine is in their role as prey animals. Okay, stick with me—it’s not as grim as it sounds. They’re fascinating because they’ve essentially mastered the art of avoidance. Coyotes, foxes, hawks—you name it, they’re all out to grab themselves a jack rabbit snack. And these hares? They’re like, “Not today!” They zigzag when they run, confusing predators like something out of a high-stakes action scene. I once saw one do a 180-degree turn so fast that it left a puff of snow in its wake, and the pursuing coyote looked genuinely bamboozled. Somewhere in another world, that jack rabbit earned itself an Olympic gold medal and a sponsorship deal.

And don’t even get me started on their ears. Those things are multitasking miracles. Not only can they rotate independently like furry satellite dishes, but they also help regulate the hare’s body temperature. In the summer, when Alberta gets its brief flirtation with heat, the blood vessels in their ears help them cool off. It’s like built-in air conditioning, except way cooler—literally.

But, you know, for all their athleticism and audacity, there’s something endearingly awkward about them. Like, have you ever seen a jack rabbit try to act casual? It doesn’t happen. They’re like that one friend who’s either sprinting at full speed or sitting perfectly still, convinced no one can see them. There’s no in-between. I once saw one freeze in the middle of a walkway, presumably hoping I’d mistake it for a misplaced garden statue. Nice try, buddy. I see you. Which is nice because it made it very easy to train my dog in regards to them given terriers are natural born hunters big time.

All in all, these creatures are absolutely fascinating. Alberta wouldn’t be the same without them. They’re a little slice of chaos in our otherwise orderly urban landscapes, bounding around like caffeinated escape artists and reminding us that nature has a wicked sense of humour. And honestly, who can blame me for going down the rabbit hole of jack rabbit admiration? They’re weird, wild, and wonderful proof that life is better with a touch of hare-brained charm.