There once lived a big fat rabbit whose diet consisted of my pansies, painted daisies, poppies, English daisies, and any other beautiful flower I'd worked hard on cultivating in our sandy, rocky ground. Forget the hundreds of dandilions (or sunflowers, as my kiddos call 'em). He (she?) went straight for my beautiful flowers.
"Kill the rascally rabbit!" I demanded of my husband. My children, knowing my frustrations of losing such beautiful flowers and fearing our growing garden would be next, echoed my sentiments (although they have no idea what "sentiments" means).
Today, I sleepily opened my eyes to see my husband donning his boots and coats....and digging thru our upper shelf under sweaters, sweatshirts, jeans, and the like, to get his shot gun. "Going after that rabbit?" I inquired. "Yep," he replied.
He walked out the door. Not even thirty seconds later I heard a BOOM! He walked back in, took off his coats and boots. "Get that rabbit?" I queried. "Yep," he replied.
He's a man of few words but big actions.
Tonight as we were tucking the kids in bed, Susanna gave him a big hug and a star sticker. "You're my hero! You got that wascally wabbit!" He grinned.
Earlier, as the kids were going downstairs, Luke asked me why Daddy has a shot gun. Before I could answer, Susanna piped up, "To hunt deer and wabbits, silly!"
Anyone for rabbit stew with a garnish of partially digested pansies?