If ‘rabbits’ is the earliest thing you say on the first of each month, then you’ll have good luck.
That’s what my dad used to tell me, anyway. But, thinking about it, he also used to warn me against walking on the cracks in the pavement, as the bears would get me. And I’ve not fallen victim to a bear ambush for some time.
It’s appropriate, because the garden is full of rabbits. I watch them frolicking about on the lawn and over the path. In fact, they’re bloody everywhere. I half expect to walk outside to find Art Garfunkel warbling in the shrubbery.
I’m a bit contradictory in my attitude to rabbits. I don’t particularly mind that they take chunks out of the plants – it’s quite fun to watch them scrabbling around.
But, on the other hand, I do have one of their cousins in the deep freeze, ready to stuff a carrot up its arse and stick it in a pot with some stock, bacon, shallots and herbs.
The LTLP won’t eat rabbit. She has a policy of not eating any animal that forms the central character in popular children’s fiction. I tend to think that if you’re not a vegetarian it’s a bit hypocritical to discriminate on grounds of cutesiness.
April Fool’s Day. Wonder what wacky pranks I can play on myself this morning?