Tuesday, 17 April 2018
That's new, I thought. I'll make a rabbit stew. It's a dish based on tomato sauce, potatoes, carrots, parsnips, swedes all boiling together with a piece of meat - this time it was rabbit.
As I supervised my meal cooking the front doorbell rang. I turned the heat low down and went to open the door. It was our neighbour with his wife.
"Have you seen our Fluffy Bunny rabbit?" they asked, "he is white and we think he dug under the fence and got in your garden!"
"Ehm ... no ... I haven't seen him," I said unconvincingly.
"You hesitated just there," said my neighbour, "are you sure you did not see him and think he was a white cat or something?"
"Yes ... yes ... I am sure," I lied truthfully. I hadn't after all seen a white rabbit, or any other colour rabbit for that matter.
"Can we have a look in your garden?" asked my neighbour persistently.
"OK ..." I hesitated again, "I'll let you in by the side gate ..."
I could hardly let them in the house and through the kitchen to the back garden in case they recognised their Fluffy Bunny cooking in my casserole.
They looked in the garden and found nothing.
When they were gone, to be honest, I had totally lost my appetite for Fluffy Bunny and gave the whole meal to our dog Brutus. He'd betray anyone for a good meal, our dog.
When the family returned home I asked about that packet marked rabbit in our freezer.
"Oh ... we got that from the butcher in the High Street a couple of days ago," I was told, "it was a new product he was selling and it was good value. Did you like it?"
"Yes ... certainly ... it was very delicious," I lied unconvincingly again.
As long as they don't ask Brutus for his opinion.