Sunday, April 25, 2010

Holy Hasenpfeffer!

A few days ago, while covering the teachers’ strike in our school district (North Penn), my husband noticed a few familiar faces approaching him with what appeared to be picket signs. It was my sons’ 4-H leader and her two daughters. As they approached, they revealed their protest cards. They weren’t aimed at swaying teachers or the school board to give in. Instead, these personalized placards were aimed right at my husband.

Well after a year of trying, my husband’s spine and resolve finally cracked and he surprised our boys tonight by telling them they could have a bunny. They’re not ripe yet, so we have to wait a month. But we got to visit the “nursery.” They were very white. Very small. With very blue eyes. We picked the one we wanted and I chose the name, Frankie.

We have no idea whether Frankie (or any of it’s siblings) is a boy or a girl. Frankie’s goodies aren’t visible yet. I’m told that by next month, if I blow on them I may be able to figure it out…but I’m just not quite curious enough to blow on a rabbit’s groin. Maybe once we get to know each other better. Or after I’ve had a few drinks.

Both boys have promised to take charge of Frankie’s cage ~ a promise that I know is as big a load of crap as Frankie’s cage will soon be. Just like the cat, and the dog, and the goldfish, I’ll eventually get charge of Frankie. I’m trying my hardest not to notice just how much Frankie looks like the rabbit in Fatal Attraction. And I do have a little bit of guilt that Frankie will be the first pet whose species I’ve actually eaten, in a delicious Moroccan tangine with olives, lemons and couscous served by belly dancers.

Knowing for a fact that a pet tastes like chicken is a bit disconcerting.

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