Marvin is the larger, and the other &mdash; the one we call Marvella &mdash; a bit smaller. Though in truth, the adjectives <em>large</em> and <em>small</em> hardly are applicable.</p><p> I saw them for the first time when I went out one recent morning to pick up the newspaper, and almost could not believe my eyes.</p><p> Five inches long, Marvin was, from nose to the little white puffball of a tail. Marvella may have been 4 inches. Unless you&rsquo;d seen them yourself, you hardly could imagine rabbits that size.</p><p> Clearly they were near-newborns. But already they were fully formed with plump rabbit bodies and prominent ears. And though energetically grazing, it&rsquo;s likely they also still were nursing &mdash; for in later days we often saw an adult, surely the doe, nearby.</p><p> As I passed down the sidewalk, they scooted into the lily bed that we determined was their refuge, and probably their birthing place.</p><p> It has given us much pleasure to know they&rsquo;re there, and to watch them grow.</p><p> Ten years or so ago we had another yard rabbit &mdash; one that quickly understood we meant him no ill. He became almost a pet. We named him Marvin. </p><p> He might have been munching grass only two or three steps away as one or the other of us went down the front walk, or across the yard to the car. He would acknowledge us with a casual glance, then go right back to eating.</p><p> Marvin No. 2 got the name from him. The sibling we call Marvella because of our uncertainty about gender. The sexing of a wild rabbit may be one of life&rsquo;s trickier assignments.</p><p> Now I realize that some readers of this column may have a profound hatred of these creatures.</p><p> Rabbits are famous for coming onto private property without permission. They torment almost to madness dogs and cats that watch them through the windows.</p><p> They eat flowers.</p><p> My parents, during hard times early in their marriage, lived on a rented farm and rabbits constituted such a large proportion of their diet that my mother once said she&rsquo;d starve before she ever ate another one.</p><p> I had a lean year myself once, and developed a fondness for rabbit &mdash; fried, baked, grilled or stewed. But I&rsquo;ve been long reformed, so Marvin and Marvella are safe. Safe from me, at any rate.</p><p> But there are other dangers in the world for creatures so small.</p><p> There&rsquo;s the family of foxes that dens in the rocky ledges of a creek just blocks away. There&rsquo;s that pair of unkempt stray dogs who occasionally make forays along our street.</p><p>There&rsquo;s the red-tailed hawk whose occasional shadow over the yard puts songbirds at the feeder to terrified flight.</p><p> And always there&rsquo;s the hazard of passing cars.</p><p> We keep binoculars by the window, and each day check to be certain the youngsters still are with us.</p><p> Usually, at the sound of the front door opening, they rush to cover in the lilies. Yesterday, though, Marvin &mdash; who&rsquo;s almost doubled in size to 9 inches, stood his ground.</p><p> I went past him to get the paper &mdash; he and I avoiding eye contact, as is prudent to do with dangerous animals &mdash; then I came back by again, very near both times. And stole a glance as I went inside. He hadn&rsquo;t budged at all, just returned to his grazing.</p><p> It may just be that he&rsquo;s a fast learner. I&rsquo;d rather believe, though, that he&rsquo;s a descendant of the first Marvin. Is it unreasonable to suppose that courage, like size, perfect pitch or the gift of beauty, passes in the genes?