There's a lovely butcher's shop in town. Been there for generations. A reminder of times gone by. I've never been there; which is a pity. If we don't frequent these small family businesses they will soon vanish and the world will be covered with supermarkets and multi-nationals.
Not far from the butcher's there's a cobbler. You know ... a man who mends shoes. He's been there for ages too. Ever since shoes were invented it seems.
Anyway, I decided to do my bit for the community so I took a pair of very old shoes I had not worn for years to the cobbler's. He told me they were well past their usefulness and the only thing they were fit for was making soup with them. What a cheek!
So I decided to visit the butcher. He is old style type of butcher. He has hanging in his shop window various freshly caught and killed game all waiting to be bought and prepared by his expert hands. The notice in the window said: HARES - PHEASANTS - TURKEYS - VENISSON - CAPONS. The creatures all hanging there upside down in his shop window. Except for the Bambi who would be too big for the window.
I did not know what CAPONS were. I thought he wanted us to have a cap on in his shop for hygiene purposes. Turns out capons are a castrated domestic cock fattened for eating. OK ... let's move on.
The day I attended was rather early and he did not have a full display out in his shop window. So I asked him, "have you got any hares?"
He looked at me embarrassingly and replied, "this is a wig Sir ... temporary ... until I get one that matches the colour of my beard!"
"No ..." I said, pointing at the shop window, "hares!"
He looked at the window and saw two boys coming into the shop with their mother, "yes ..." he said, "they are my children ... my heirs are my pride and joy!"
"RABBITS!" I shouted.
"Oh ..." he said, "I have some nice ones in the fridge in the back.
He brought me a lovely hare that had been caught and killed that very morning. You could see the smile on its face as it waved goodbye to his family as it went out in the countryside to start a new day of foraging and jumping and enjoying life.
The butcher skinned the hare for me and cut it into small pieces ready for the pot. He also gave me its head saying that it would make a good nourishing soup for the dog.
When I got home I got ready to make a lovely rabbit stew.
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
"Have you seen our Bunny rabbit?" they asked, "he is grey big and fluffy 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 cat or something?"
"Yes ... yes ... I am sure," I lied truthfully.
"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 Bunny from the severed head lying in a plate staring at them miserably.
They looked in the garden and found nothing.
When they were gone, to be honest, I had totally lost my appetite for Bunny stew and gave the whole meal to our dog Brutus. He'd betray anyone for a good meal, our dog!