Look at his eyes--he hears one of those evil cars.
Chewy always walks in my jacket. If I put him on a leash he throws himself to the ground and pretends to be choking to death, then instantly recovers when a car drives by and tries to bite its tires. Chewy will never be a "walking" dog. He will spend his 22-year-average-life-span zipped up in my jacket. Sigh.
The following story in pictures explains what happens when I try to walk the two males, Buddy and Baby, together. I suspect it also explains why Baby is a bit on the chubby side. I stop to take a picture every few feet, literally. Their conversation explains why I stop to take a picture every two feet--it's the rabbit.