Easter Surprise

We had a never-to-be-forgotten Easter in 1959. It may have been the only time Bucher and I created a problem by not communicating, all in the interest of having happy surprises for the family.

We all missed our Beagles. I had an inspiration. What we needed, I decided, was a nice, lovable, controllable playmate for the children. Besides, it was my last chance to provide some live bunnies and make Carli believe the Easter Bunny had brought them.

I read the Yellow Pages, jotted down two addresses, and discussed my plan with my father who was visiting us. Living alone now after a lifetime of adjusting to Mother’s sudden whims, Dad was prepared to help me—not necessarily to encourage, but to abet. He agreed to keep the children away from the house and entertained while I carried out my scheme.

I set off to do my Easter marketing. To my delight, when I emerged from the supermarket, I saw a stand on the corner where a leathery man had baby rabbits for sale. He was surrounded by excited children with uncooperative parents, so I eased my way to the front of the crowd and began negotiations.

The Rabbit Man proved to be one of the names on my list. He not only bred rabbits professionally, he cared about them. He had several Dutch rabbits for sale, and with his help I selected a breeding pair. Both had the characteristic broad white collars encompassing their shoulders and front feet. The male was predominantly blue-gray in color, and the female, black. He gave me advice on their care, and sold me a modest bag of rabbit food.

I put my two furry purchases into the paper-lined box awaiting them in the car. Back home, Dad had the children far down the beach, so I could put the rabbits into the little back house that we used as a store-and-play room. I had prepared an impromptu cage earlier. I provided food and water for the enchanting little creatures, and left, padlocking the door behind me.

Dad returned with the children and we all were sitting together on the front screened porch when Bucher drove up. The children raced out to meet him and Dad and I followed. Bucher opened the back door of his car with a flourish and, with a broad grin, said, “Happy Easter.” A puppy raced out into the children’s waiting arms. The puppy was a beautiful little Beagle, grandson of our beloved Eagle, whom we sadly had to leave in Belize. Alex named him Pedro.

Dad and I looked at each other in comic dismay. When we had the children and puppy safely incarcerated on the porch, I motioned to Bucher to follow me. We quietly walked around to the little house at the back where I showed him my contribution to the children’s Easter. I think the word “consternation” best describes my husband’s expression.

We kept the rabbits hidden until Easter morning. The children were enraptured. So was Pedro, who decided that they were playmates to be cherished. Alex named his male bunny Dwinc after a “club” he and his friends had formed named Dirty Works, Incorporated. Carli called her little black-and-white beauty Lizzie.

Bucher built a large double cage on legs, which took up one entire end of the front porch. We let the rabbits out of the cage to play on the porch with Pedro when we were there to supervise. They raced about at dizzying speed in play that never hinted at a Beagle-bunny hunt. Dwinc would stop, turn to face Pedro, sit up on his hind legs, and box the puppy in the muzzle with his front paws. When Pedro tired of the game and sprawled out to rest, Dwinc hopped over to him and thumped on his head to try to encourage him to resume the game.

We let the rabbits share a cage most of the time until size and maturity made it advisable to separate them.

 

Our first litter of rabbits was awaited rapturously. When the moment arrived, Lizzie obviously did not need the assistance I was so eager to provide. The children came home from school that afternoon to find nine, rather than two, rabbits.

When the babies were large enough to be let out of the cage, I turned all the rabbits loose on the porch at once. I brought Pedro in on a leash, but released him when it was obvious that he considered the dizzying pogo-ing of countless black and white and gray little bodies an entertainment arranged just for him. He was as gentle with the babies as he had been with their parents.

Obviously we could not keep all of the rabbits. This was no problem. We had three prospective adopters for each bunny. I explained gently to the children’s eager friends that I could not agree to give them a rabbit until I talked to their parents. Some never were heard from again. Gradually, however, the little rabbits left us, tenderly cradled in happy arms. The last to go, because I so hated to part with him, was my “Jack of Diamonds,” a little male with a perfect white diamond on one black hip.

 

The major problem came when we decided to return to Belize. The pair of rabbits could not go with us. Fortunately, one of Alex’s school friends arrived with her mother, who was willing to take over the responsibility. The delighted child and dedicated mother left with the two rabbits, all the left-over feed, and the well-cleaned cage lying on its side and protruding from the rear of their station wagon.