Junie’s Quiet Signal

“Wes! I’m ready!” Junie calls, but the tall grass swishes between them.

Across the clearing, Wes lifts his long ears. He is standing beside the woodland path, where little leaves lie scattered like green boats. Junie waits near a clump of clover, her paws tucked close together.

“I can’t hear you!” Wes calls. “The grass is talking over you!”

Junie looks around. A row of birds is resting in the low branches at the edge of the clearing. One bird tucks its beak beneath a wing. Another smooths a feather with its beak.

“I want to let you know I’m ready,” Junie says, “but I don’t want to startle the birds.”

Wes nods. “We could use our rabbit thumps. Maybe one little thump will carry.”

Rabbits can thump their hind feet to send a signal. Junie has used a thump before, but usually when she is surprised. She wiggles one back foot, then stops.

“Let’s try carefully,” she says.

She glances at the birds. They look peaceful, and the clearing is quiet except for the grass brushing her ankles. Junie lifts her chin toward Wes.

“Ready?” he calls.

“Ready!” she answers, though her voice disappears in the swishing grass.

Junie studies the ground. The grass beneath her paws is thick and springy. Near the path, a bare patch shows through, where many paws have crossed. It is only a little spot, the size of a plate, and the earth there looks smooth and packed.

But Junie doesn’t know if a thump will travel from one side of the clearing to the other. She looks back at the birds. Their feathers barely move as they rest.

“I’ll start with a tiny one,” she whispers.

Junie draws her hind foot back. She means to make the smallest thump she can. But her foot lands on the hard, dry edge of the path with a sharp, loud tok!

Every bird lifts its head. Junie’s ears droop.

“Oh,” she says. “That was not tiny at all.”

The birds fluttered up from the branches and landed again a little farther along the path. They were safe, but Junie wished she could tuck her clumsy thump into the grass.

“Sorry, birds,” she murmured.

Across the clearing, Wes called, “I heard that one!”

“I know,” Junie called back. “It was much too loud.”

“Maybe the grass will muffle it,” Wes said. “Try there?”

Junie stepped onto the softest patch she could find. She pressed her foot down gently. The grass bent beneath it.

“This time I’ll barely tap,” she said.

She gave the ground a little tap with her hind foot. The grass swallowed the sound. Junie heard only a faint tick close to her own paws.

“Did you hear it?” she called.

Wes cupped one paw beside his ear. “I didn’t hear anything!”

Junie looked at the tall grass. “Too loud, then too quiet. How do I make a sound that’s just right?”

She tried the grassy patch once more, tapping with a little more strength. The sound still vanished among the blades. Junie paused and studied the clearing instead of hurrying to try again.

There was the bare patch near the path. The earth beside it looked firmer than the soft grass, but not as hard as the path’s edge. Junie walked over and set her paw down.

“Ah,” she said. “This ground doesn’t sink so much.”

She tapped it with one hind foot. Tok.

The sound was clear, but small. The resting birds barely stirred.

Junie’s ears stood tall. “Wes, I found a spot!”

“Should I listen?” he called.

“Yes. I’ll make one careful thump.”

Junie placed both front paws steady on the ground. She remembered the sharp crack on the path, and the silent tap in the grass. Then she gave the firmer earth one measured thump.

Tok.

Across the clearing, Wes’s ears sprang up. He answered with a tap of his own.

Tok.

“I heard you!” he called. “That was just right!”

Junie grinned. The birds settled their feathers again, and the two rabbits had found a way to talk without making the clearing jump.

“I’m coming over,” Wes called. “Let’s meet in the middle.”

Junie stepped away from the firm patch, and Wes came from the other side. They crossed the clearing at an easy hop, careful not to bump into the tall grass or the clover.

When they met, Wes gave Junie a friendly nose nudge.

“You found the perfect place to send a message,” he said.

“I found it by listening,” Junie replied. “The grass swallowed my tap, and the path made it shout.”

“And the firm earth made it speak clearly,” said Wes.

They looked toward the birds. One bird gave a small chirp, then tucked its head beneath its wing again.

“Do you think we can play our hopping game with quiet thumps?” Wes asked.

“Let’s try,” said Junie. “One thump for a hop, and one tap to wait.”

Wes made a soft thump. Junie answered with one just like it. Together they hopped forward, then paused. Thump, hop. Thump, hop. Their paws made a quiet, matching rhythm on the packed earth.

When they reached the middle of the clearing, Wes leaned left. Junie leaned left too. He leaned right, and she followed. They both giggled, then tried the little dance again, moving this way and that without a sound louder than their careful taps.

The grass swished around them. The birds rested in the branches. Along the woodland path, the evening air cooled the tops of the leaves, and the clearing grew still.

“I think that’s enough hopping for tonight,” Wes said.

Junie nodded. “My paws are ready for a rest.”

They stood together for a moment, watching the birds settle and the shadows gather beneath the trees. Then Junie gave one last quiet thump on the firm ground.

Tok.

Wes answered with a matching tap.

Tok.

“Good night, Junie,” he whispered.

“Good night, Wes.”

They turned toward their burrows, taking the woodland path side by side. At the edge of the clearing, they parted with a small wave of their paws. Junie hopped home slowly, carrying the memory of their quiet game with her, while the birds rested in the branches and the grass lay still.