THE BROWN hare (lepus capensis) has eyes like marigold marbles and a permanently startled expression.

There are irregular black tints on the back of this tawny-buff herbivore. His long ears are tipped with black and so are his big hind feet.

Unlike the rabbit, this lagomorph enjoys his own company, except in the breeding season (January to March).

He sleeps in a 'form', which is a small depression in the ground. His young, known as leverets, are suckled by the doe until they are ready to hop off into a rural world of grain, grass, clover, and root crops that can be plundered.

In my Grammar School days I accepted what I read in books about the males (bucks) fighting savagely when gripped by mating 'fever'. Then I was lucky enough to witness one of those contests that included a bit of boxing, kicking and nipping. But naked aggression was missing.

A little later I discovered why it had been a kind of decaffeinated fight. The hares mated after what had been a courtship display by male and female.

At birth, though, the leverets enter an insecure environment. They become the doomed victims of foxes, stoats, weasels, farm cats, and buzzards. And some of the survivors may live to meet the most dangerous predator of all – man.

Once upon a time, when the kingdom was a technicolour nightmare of 'princely chivalry', the hare was at the apex of the hunting pyramid.

Chasing him was a flashy business of rituals and taboos. Coursing, though, was particularly barbarous, with the victim being torn apart by greyhounds after running between rows of yelling spectators.

The posher persons of medieval England elevated the slaughter of the hare to a pseudo-art form. The 14th-century Duke of York gave the animal VIP status, claiming the hare was the King of Venery (the archaic term for hunting). That opinion was shared by 'gentlefolk' until the mid-18th century.

Until quite recently the hare was hunted by packs of beagles, coursed by greyhounds, trapped or shot. Thankfully the hunting and coursing has been banned.

Lepus capensis didn't have much going for him. In pain or terror he would scream like a child. And people speak of this in awe, as if our species has the monopoly of vocal expression of fear, agony, joy, or heartache.

Like so many wild creatures the brown hare's future depends on the importance we place on its right to survive. But consigning hunting and coursing to history has been a great step forward.