ONE Man And His Dog was a hugely enjoyable television programme. Shepherds, partnered by their wonderful sheepdogs, skilfully rounded up sheep into a small pen, to whistles, anxious shouts of "Come by, Meg", and Phil Drabble's whispered commentary.

In our house, we have One Man and His Rabbits - and it's anything but enjoyable. It involves me trying to round-up our two rabbits into a small pen in which their hutch is situated.

After a day hopping about in the garden, Aladdin and Tallulah are far from keen to retire for the night and do their best to give me the runaround. Well, that's not quite true. Tallulah - the world-famous "tummy-tuck rabbit" - is too fat to give anyone the runaround. She's as easy to catch as a footstool.

Aladdin, on the other hand, is, as they say in the trade, a pig to catch. Well, again, that's not strictly true. When my wife "puts him to bed", he's a doddle to catch. She just goes out into the garden, shouts "bedtime" and both bunnies hop obediently into their pen. But when I'm on round-up duty, he always plays hard-to-get.

I start off with a wide sweep, round the perimeter of the garden - "Come by, Dad", as Phil would have Drabbled. Then, I sneak up on him. No sudden movements. Ushering him forward, inch by inch, as he nonchalantly nibbles the grass. But, just as he's at the open gate of the pen, he throws me a dummy. No points from the judges. Often, he chooses to duck into the honeysuckle which grows thickly along the fence, making him even harder to pen.

One night last week, we were late home and it was getting dark before I was despatched into the garden to round-up the rabbits. Conditions were far from ideal, so I had eight-year-old Hannah to assist. With "the footstool" safely parked, Dad circled to the left - "Come by". Hannah circled to the right - "Away to me" in Drabble-speak.

We closed in on Aladdin. Slowly. Gently does it. Silently. Nearly there. "Damn it." He did a runner.

We'd been at it for 35 minutes in the closing darkness and my blood pressure was as a high as a ewe at the centre of a sheep-worrying attack. Aladdin had been "on the verge" eight times, only to dodge the issue at the last second.

There was only one thing for it - I grabbed the clothes prop. I know it wouldn't have been allowed in One Man and His Dog but I'd have blown all my points anyway. The prop is useful on two counts. It can be used for sticking into the honeysuckle to ram rabbits up the bum. And, held in the middle like a balancing pole, it can be very effective in stopping rabbits running off to one side or the other.

My wife, watching unhelpfully from the window, shouted: "It's a rabbit, not a man-eating lion, you know. Where's your whip?"

It was pitch-black by the time we poked Aladdin out of the honeysuckle and guided him towards the pen. Slowly. Gently does it. Silently. Nearly there again.

Predictably, at the last second he darted to my right. I was ready. I swung the prop to stop him in his tracks and clonked something in the darkness. My little girl immediately began to sob. Aladdin had ducked underneath the prop and was hiding somewhere in the darkness. Hannah was sitting on the grass, concussed, and with a lump already forming on the side of her head.

"Oh for God's sake," called my wife. "I'll do it. Bedtime, Aladdin, bedtime."

THE THINGS THEY SAY...

" Dad - come quick. One of the donuts Mum bought us is dead. There's blood pouring out of it into the box." Our Max - aged four.

Published: Friday, April 20, 2001