Two Tuscan hares, lie back and wheeze on the Suffolk air.

“One day we’ll learn to fight properly”, says Alex after their annual sparring.

“I might move back to Old Country” says Tony.

Alex ponders whether,

if he saw himself hopping through this field, he’d see an immigrant;

He’s never been to Europe. Would they even want him there?

His ears stand up, like clandestine lovers who’ve been rumbled.

Twitching.

There is barking in the distance.