Boy Bunnies & Girl Bunnies

I throw produce refuse out into the backyard for the bunnies and the quail.  I’ve named one of them Gomer for reasons I can’t remember.  He’s gotten used to the evening salad bar opening up around 5:30 and waits for me next to the BBQ grill.  And, if he isn’t there, I just shake the bag of cut up veggies a couple of times, call him, and he comes running from his home under the hedge along the back of the house behind ours.

Mom recently took notice of this little evening ritual and she started watching out the dining room window, waiting for the wildlife to show up.  Last night, after I returned from tossing out some lettuce, carrots and celery, she stopped me on my way back into the kitchen.

“Did you throw out the crumbs yet?” she asked.

“Yes, I just did,” I replied as I waggled my bag of cut up produce to emphasize that the deed was done.

“Oh, good, I can look at the rabbits,” she said with a smile as she moved from the loveseat to the Red Menace and motored toward the dining room window.

Five minutes later she was back in the living room watching the evening news, so I brought her a selection of frozen meals from which she could choose her dinner.

“Chicken Fried Chicken or Lasagna?” I asked, showing her the appetizing pictures printed on the front of each box.  After mulling over the selections, she finally landed on the lasagna.

As I walked away she asked, “How many are there now?”

I glanced out the dining room window on my way back into the kitchen.  “Four,” I called over my shoulder.  “But no Jacks tonight.”


“Jack Rabbits,” I clarified.  “Sometimes there are a couple Jacks eating with the cottontails.”

A minute later, I had just finished prepping her meal and placing it in the microwave, when she called out for me.  Pressing the timer, I walked back into the living room.

“What do you need?” I asked.

“How can you tell the difference?” she asked, cocking her head.

“The difference between what?”

“The rabbits.  How can you tell which ones are boys and which ones are girls?”

I paused for a moment, trying to decipher the hidden logic in her question.  “Because the boys are named Jack?” I speculated.

“Really?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“No, Mom,” I laughed.  “Jack Rabbits are different than the little cotton tails.  They’re bigger.  Bigger ears, bigger legs, bigger tails, bigger everything.”

She pondered that for a second or two before responding, “Well, that’s probably because they’re all boys.”

Jack Rabbits


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