We have neighbours, and they are mostly birds, sheep, moles and rabbits. And something that comes silently in the night to kill. Last week I was mildly perturbed to find a fluffy grey object in the middle of the garden path - the dismembered head of a juvenile rabbit. Upon further investigation I found one ear and two front feet in the rose bed, and the discarded back legs among the daffodils. Hungry death had come for the young rabbits in the night.
Dozens of rabbits dwell in the hedgerows bounding the fields around the house, they out-breed their hunters' deprivations and are growing happily fat on the first forcing of lush spring grass. The warren inhabitants are not in the least bothered by the cars that pass on the road only yards from where they eat. Nor are they bothered when we pull into the drive and get out of our vehicles.
I have found however that if you stand at the fence and shout "RUN!" in a stentorian manner, then they do indeed bolt for cover, two dozen white tails a-flashing as they go.
Simple country pleasures.