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The Weekender: A Rabbit Tale

A Rabbit Tale

When I was eight, I saved up six bucks to buy a pet rabbit. My dad and I built a plywood-framed cage with wire mesh walls and a lift latch front door. We installed a water bottle with a drip nozzle and bought a ten-pound bag of pellets. When we drove out to my dad’s friend’s house, I had my six dollars and change in my pants pocket. I asked the price and he said he would only take a dime. I agreed to this, thinking he hadn’t quite heard me, feeling undeservingly lucky. Looking back, who would take all of an eight-year-old kid’s savings?
I brought the rabbit home and named him Splotchie. He was white with large black spots. I was terrified of him. I tied a rope around his neck and after school I would take him out of his cage and let him hop around while I held his rope. I would steal lettuce and carrots from the fridge and feed him to just watch him eat. Eventually I didn’t need the rope at all.
The strangest thing is I can’t remember what happened to Splotchie. I can’t remember if he died or ran away or if I simply started to forget about him. Years later, I caught another rabbit on our property with a carrot tied to a box on an incline. For some reason I didn’t name him although I can’t remember what happened to him either. Maybe it’s better not to know. At least it leaves the possibility for imagination.

Happy Easter.

- Will