This morning I went out to my fence garden. Last autumn I planted dozens of tulips. I envisioned a glorious mass of breath taking colour. Magnificent tulips swaying elegantly against a background weathered fence. Instead I was presented with damp, black earth scattered with the guillotined heads of tulips. At first I thought the high wind of the previous evening was the culprit. In a Holmes like manner I examined the scene of the heinous crime. Rabbit prints. Rabbit paws. Small rabbit paws.
“I’ll catch those maundering rascals. And I’ll do what I always do with rabbits. I’ll nibble their ears off. I am so angry”, I muttered under my breath as I stalked off. I heard a quiet clearing of throat.
“Excuse me”. I turned to see Oswald, gentleman rabbit. “You have planted a garden dangerously close to our burrow. And you know how rabbits like to taste everything, at least once. Chewing a bunnies ears seems a bit excessive”, he quietly pointed out. “How else are they going to learn about this wonderful, green, growing world we live in”. I had made a rather vocal faux pas . Now I must confess to Oswald my guilty pleasure. I do indeed nibble rabbit ears.
“Oswald, dear Oswald. I would never nibble off bunny ears. If I have to choose between flowers and rabbits I would choose rabbits every time. When my children were young I always made sure their Easter baskets were filled with the finest of chocolate bunnies. Bunnies made from the very best Belgian chocolate. Bunnies with very big, solid ears. And my children obliged me by sharing their chocolate bunny ears with me.” My secret was out. I was a closet eater of chocolate rabbit ears. Tomorrow I would go to Jarry’s Market in the sweet, little village of Ladner. I would buy an armful of tulips, and perhaps a chocolate rabbit or two.