So I caught a cute little brown bunny in our garden a couple of weeks back. The next day, several bean plants were bitten off right to the root.

I don’t mean to accuse, but if that bunny were on CSI, someone would be giving him the Frown Of Moral Superiority right now.

We needed a fence, lest my dreams of living off the land fade away into a bunny’s stomach. Sir Monkeypants was on it.

Not just any fence would do. No simple slapping up of stakes and wire, no sir. No shoving of chicken wire into the ground and hoping for the best, no way. Sir Monkeypants’ fence had to be sturdy, striking fear into the hearts of bunnies everywhere. Sir Monkeypants’ fence had to be bold, marking our territory to all groundhogs and squirrels. Sir Monkeypants’ fence had to be removable, so we could get in there and weed and reap our harvest without having to bend over, seeing as how we are getting dottery.

And lo, after many hours of measuring, professional quality architectural designs, and hand cramps from the staple gun, it was built:

Take that, bunnies.