All my life I’ve considered rabbits quite cute, relatively harmless little creatures and was definitely on the side of poor Peter Rabbit versus the nasty Mr McGregor.

But now I’ve got two acres of garden to cultivate, I am afraid that my mind-set is firmly on the side of the beleaguered gardener.

Until we moved into our two acre garden earlier this year, the previous occupants, Mr and Mrs Rabbit of Delly End, had led the most blissful, peaceful life imaginable. They and their numerous children, cousins, aunts, uncles and various other distant relatives were untroubled by any disturbance from the unoccupied house and had two idyllic acres of land on which to caper, cavort, carouse and make love. Evidently there has been a whole lot of the latter.

The evidence is before my eyes and I now know what the expression ‘breeding like rabbits’ really means. A little research revealed that the doe can become pregnant up to 10 times a year. An average female can produce up to 92 babies (kits) a year and with exponential growth two can become 1,000 in 12 months. The consequences of all these fun and games are everywhere. So a fierce battle of ownership has ensued and, at the moment, my dogs and I are on the losing team.

The problem with having a rabbit colony with a population the size of China in my back garden, is their voracious appetite for my delicate, newly planted vegetables. At this rate, I’m never going to win a prize in the village show. So we are on the offensive. Our first plan of attack is to erect heavy duty fencing. The garden is rapidly resembling Colditz. Like the prisoners of war, my enemies are simply digging under the fortress and subsequently making their escape to freedom stuffed full of my little tender baby plants.

Quite clearly tougher action is required so I’ve done online research into ‘rabbit repellents.’ Typing this into Google came up with interesting results. One US site, advertising humane rabbit traps, stated that, “humane wire traps make for good family fun, and are especially nice if you have children. Not only are they safe, but they'll afford you an opportunity to introduce your children to rabbits and other wildlife face-to-face.” I can only speculate how my children would have reacted to their mother producing a trapped wild rabbit as part of their education or for ‘fun’. On reflection I don’t need to speculate – it would only have confirmed their not terribly high opinion of me as a completely barmy mum.

In desperation I told an old farming friend of the problem, expecting the advice that there’s no real option for eradication other than shooting followed by rabbit pie supper. But he suggested singing to them – apparently they dislike the sound of high pitched wailing. So my latest ploy is going out at dusk, accompanied by two dogs and a glass of wine (for purposes of lubricating my vocal chords). The choice of song inevitably is … “Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run, run.”