(And by "commando," I mean they are running around without any underwear.)
So, the other night we were driving home in the dark, and a white rabbit hopped off the curb a block from our house. Then we spotted a black rabbit of similar size sitting in someone's yard several feet from the white rabbit. These two were clearly not related to the ubiquitous neighborhood cottontails that The Boy so enjoys swallowing whole in their youth.
The Alpha pulled the car to a stop and I emerged with the hope that I could, with my oh-so-deft call of, "Hey, bunnybunnybunny," lure them close enough that a rabbit rescue might ensue. But it was not to be. They hopped up someone's front walk, though, so I figured I might as well ring that doorbell.
"Um, hi -- you wouldn't happen to be missing two rabbits, would you?" I don't know what most people expect when they open their front door at 9 p.m. to find a neighbor they've met exactly once, but that's what she got from me. No, in fact, my across-the-alley neighbor wasn't missing rabbits. I pointed them out to her, where they were sitting on her lawn, just to make sure she knew I wasn't hallucinating.
She thought, though, that they might belong to her new next-door neighbors, so I went to their front door. Turns out that yes, they were missing some rabbits! Victory, I thought. But no, the dad of the family didn't seem too interested in rounding them up. He looked their general direction and said something to the effect of "we'll never catch them tonight."
"Okay, guy, I realize you're new around here, but free-range domestic bunnies just aren't really a thing in our neighborhood." At least, that's what I said on the inside. On the outside, I shrugged and went back to the car.
And each night since, I've seen one or both bunnies, still on the loose. They still don't come when called. They still can't be neeked up on (so they must not be unique rabbits). So I'm reduced to hoping I don't see them smushed in the road.