Remembrance of a past Easter Sunday

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, my father came home, smelling of bar (beer & cigarettes), with a box in his arms. He set the box on the floor and we scooched close, and in the box were two black and white rabbits.

One rabbit was for my older sister, and she named him Snoopy. The other was for me, and I named him Bugs. (Very imaginative, no?) My father gave us a box of rabbit food, which came in the form of small pellets. After a little while, the rabbits pooped out those little round pellets of rabbit excrement. My mother, who grew up in Brooklyn, NY, and had only ever seen a stuffed rabbit at the Museum of Natural History, exclaimed: "Look! They're making their own food!"

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