We weren’t the only ones in the neighborhood to notice this very large cottontail, which made me think of the character Bigwig in “Watership Down,” a 1972 novel by Richard Adams that centered on a group of rabbits in England. As a child, it was one of my favorites.

But American cottontails are different from their European brethren — the ones across the pond establish colonies and extended underground burrows, called warrens, while our local rabbits take shelter in brush or other ground growth.

Big Bunny appeared to be dwelling underneath our lawn tractor shed, where we also keep seed for the birds, squirrels and deer. Since I have no evidence of its gender, I’ll stick to “it” to be safe — as it turns out, female cottontails can be slightly larger than males, according to online sources.

It first turned up in summer, often using my parked vehicle as close cover while grazing on the lawn clover.

Some chipmunks have come out of hibernation, though Friday’s snow may have them back in their burrows.

It would come out when I left black oil sunflower seeds for the squirrels and chickadees, in one of the half-barrel planters outside the lawn tractor shed.

It got comfortable enough with me that it would continue to chow down even as I walked to my vehicle to head to work.

Throughout the winter, Big Bunny would go missing for days, making me wonder if the realities of being a prime prey species had finally caught up. Then the rabbit would reappear, looking healthy and unscathed.

So I’d begun to root that Big Bunny would survive through the winter.

But in a neighborhood known to have weasels, hawks, owls, coyotes, bobcats — the backyard trail camera in past years had twice photographed a bobcat with a rabbit in its jaws — and more, the odds are long for a cottontail to have a long life.

The first common grackle seen at Six Mile Lake this spring.

Several online wildlife sites indicated the average cottontail gets less than two years in this world, though ones in captivity are capable of reaching eight to 10 years. It’s estimated up to 25% don’t last past the first month.

According to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, “Each year about 80 percent of the Minnesota’s cottontail population dies from weather, predators or disease.”

Yet the Minnesota DNR added, “The remaining 20 percent have little trouble repopulating the landscape.”

Because that’s the cottontail’s superpower, its response to being so tasty to so many species — they mature quickly and make the most, reproduction-wise, of the time they might have.

Though born hairless and sightless, young cottontails will be ready to leave the nest — usually a shallow depression the female scrapes in the ground and lines with grass and her own fur — at three weeks, according to the Minnesota DNR. Their mother at that point could be ready to deliver the next litter, and her female offspring can conceive after only two to three months.

With rabbits able to bear three to five litters of three to eight kittens a year, they can thrive as a species even with such a high level of losses.

In fact, as Australia learned, not having predators to offset the rabbits’ prodigious breeding ability can lead to disaster. Just over a dozen English rabbits were released there in the mid-1800s so they could be hunted on an estate, and within 50 years had spread across two-thirds of the continent — the fastest expansion of an introduced mammal on record, according to the National Museum of Australia’s website.

“By the late 1940s the rabbit population had rapidly increased to 600 million,” the site states. This “rabbit plague” had “devastating implications for Australia’s indigenous flora and fauna,” as the massive hoard consumed vast amounts of native vegetation.

While introduced rabbit-specific diseases such as myxomatosis did manage to greatly reduce the population in the 1950s and 1990s, the remaining rabbits have developed resistance and “their numbers are now on the rise again in Australia.” The website estimated the country still is home to at least 150 million feral rabbits.

So while I’m saddened that Big Bunny, for now, has been absent for weeks, I also recognize this is the cycle that’s supposed to happen.

And maybe Big Bunny will surprise me and resurface. Rabbits usually are active before dawn, after dusk and at night. This can be the start of breeding season, too, according to the Ontario Wildlife Foundation, so perhaps it’s off seeking a mate.

But if Big Bunny is gone, I hope he or she was able to add a few offspring to the local population.

*****

Quick update on spring wildlife activity in the region:

— Trumpeter swans are back on Six Mile Lake Creek, with Mike Buzzo sending the first photos last Sunday. They’re noisy, too, calling as they fly over Six Mile Lake with a honk that sounds like an old-style car horn. It’s easy to hear how they got their name.

— At least a couple chipmunks have emerged from hibernation — and are not above begging at my feet for a peanut as I put out birdseed.

— The first common grackle I’ve seen this year appeared at the feeder Friday — not surprising, given the snow, which will drive migrating songbirds to the feeders. A warmup Sunday may be enough to clear out ground again. The red-winged blackbirds, however, for now seem to have moved on.

Betsy Bloom can be reached at 906-774-2772, ext. 240, or bbloom@ironmountaindailynews.com.