The Rabbit and the Outhouse

Morning sunlight was rippling through sparse branches, which were dappled with the merest hint of new buds. Spring was about to bloom.
"Hmmm..." I took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled.
A fluffy rabbit the size of a small dog suddenly burst out of a nearby thicket and hopped forward, finally stopping a few paces away from my woodland throne. He eyeballed me, ears erect, whiskers twitching.
"Pssst!"
"Shoo!"
The rabbit stared, unperturbed.
I'm not usually prone to bouts of performance anxiety but it seemed suddenly weird to take a wee with an uninvited audience, even if it was of the non-human variety.
I giggled. It was my first morning in Alaska, and of all the things I was expecting, this was not it. The rabbit leapt off, apparently startled by my laughter.

Well. This was certainly different. Already I could feel my bond with Mother Nature becoming deeper, more profound. I decided that next time, I would bring a carrot.