You know, the cute fluffy white ones. Dad used to butcher them and sell the
meat. We all helped take care of them, but only my 2 oldest brothers took part
in the butchering. I steered clear on those days because I was usually too
attached to the little things to think about what happened to them, although it
never stopped me from eating the rabbit meat.
Every once in a while, a
neighborhood dog would visit and think about getting him some rabbit. Mom kept a
gun (it only shot blanks, I think) in the kitchen and would shoot toward any
dogs that got too close. One time though, a dog got to the rabbits and ended up
killing something like 10 or 15 of them. Mom must have somehow caught the dog,
and called the owners. I have a vague memory of some 10-12 year old boy coming
over to our house to get his dog. He was crying a bunch, but I’m not sure why. I
don’t know if it was because mom was calling the dogcatcher or what. But he was
crying as if he was never gonna see the dog again, so I don’t know if they took
it away for good or what. When that kid grew up, he turned out to be pretty mean
and picked on me a bunch. Thanks mom.
I think I’m gonna call mom right
now and ask her if she remembers that happening. Then I’m gonna ask her what
they did to the dog. Ugh, what if she tells me they shot it?
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