I grew up watching good ole Bugs Bunny and gang. The first (and only) time my parents tried to feed me rabbit they tried to tell me it was chicken and, as I sat tasting it, I commented that it didn't taste like chicken. So they replied (thinking they were clever) "It's Hassenpfeffer"!
Like I said, I watched a lot of Bugs... I knew what Hassenpfeffer was... and it wasn't chicken. My poor mother, during my melt down, tried so hard to calm me down.
"How do you know we aren't eating Bugs Bunny?"
"We're not, I am sure."
"How do you know?" I shot back as I ran from the room.
She followed me out, "I just know. It's ok"
Then it hit me, and I whipped back around with tears streaking my face now, "WHAT IF IT WAS THE EASTER BUNNY?!?!"
I could not begin to explain this sensitivity to the cute furry creatures. But whatever it was, I think my kids inherited it. The product of 2 bunnies we previously owned still resides in our home. His name is Peter, after the mischievous character in Beatrix Potter's stories. He, in truth, belongs to my youngest daughter and he has enough personality to fill a room.
Who knew rabbits could have such spunk? This one, we learned this week, also likes to be a foot rest!
What a "Wasco-y Wabbit"!