Brilliant afternoon sun streamed in through the high window, and from my spot at the kitchen table, I could look up at a patch of blue sky that seemed as smooth and clear as polished glass. Earlier in the afternoon, I had gone out to see Dusty, but, just like the day I first flew my kite, the wind was so cold that my eyes filled with tears. Mom had reminded me that there would be many warmer days in another month, so I spent most of the afternoon inside. She had helped Loretta clean up. She had read a book for a while. And now I was working on my Sunday school lesson. As I turned to the next page of the book, my father reached under the sink and pulled out a stack of egg cartons.

“They want to go with me?” she asked her.

“Are you leaving right now?” I said, putting down my pencil.

I usually put off my Sunday school homework as long as I can, but since I’d rather not ride my bike, or my pony, in the biting cold wind, now was a good time to work on the lesson I’d been assigned. for tomorrow.

Dad shifted the egg cartons to his other arm. “Yeah, we have to leave right now if we’re going to get back before it’s time to feed the cows.”

Every two weeks, we would buy eggs from a farm several miles away, even though it was close enough that the family was considered one of our neighbors. The daughter of the family kept chickens. She also raised ducks, rabbits, and calves. But best of all, she had a horse, a bay gelding named Lucky that she had bought when she was six months old. She had trained him herself.

I always hoped that when we went egg shopping I would get a chance to pet Lucky. Sure, I had my own pony, but I never wanted to miss an opportunity that had anything to do with horses.

I stood up and closed my Sunday school book.

“When do you plan to finish that?” my mother yelled from the living room.

“After dinner?” I said.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I told him. Anyway, I only have a few questions left.

I went out on the porch, put on my jean coat, zipped it up, and stuffed my beanie in my pocket. If Lucky was on his lawn, he’d need the stocking cap.

“Ready kid?” asked dad. He pushed open the door and stepped out onto the porch.

“Look,” he said, as we walked to the truck, “the grass is starting to turn green.”

Although there were a few patches of snow left in the woods, the grass and most of the fields were bare. However, I could hardly believe it when I stepped outside and saw the brown color of the grass and fields, instead of the brilliant white that had been there all winter.

A short time later we arrived at the neighbor’s house. While the daughter went into the house to look for the eggs, dad and I waited in the yard. The trees on the other side of the path blocked the cold north wind and the sun almost made it warm.

I had been looking out over Lucky’s lawn and wondering if we could stay long enough for me to pet it when Daddy spoke.

“Do you want a bunny?” she asked.

I turned to him. “What?”

“A rabbit,” replied Dad. “You know, an Easter bunny.”

He pointed to a small piece of plywood with painted black lettering that read, “Easter Bunnies For Sale. $1.”

I hadn’t noticed the sign.

“An Easter bunny? Could I?”

“I don’t see why not,” Dad replied.

A bunny! A real, live rabbit! A couple of kids at school had rabbits, and I thought they looked like such nice little animals with their wavy noses and long floppy ears.

I happily thought about the idea of ​​my own bunny for five seconds, until I remembered my mother.

“Dad? If we bring an Easter bunny home, what will mom say?”

My mother thought that the dog, the cats, the calves, and my pony were far more pets than any farm needed.

“It’s just a bunny,” Dad replied. “She won’t be mad. Besides, when we tell her that she’s going to eat those cabbage leaves that she always complains about going to waste, she’ll think it’s a good idea.”

Mom liked to let everything go to waste. One of her favorite sayings was ‘waste not, want not’. But when Dad suggests that she could save the cabbage leaves for the soup, she says that she didn’t like cabbage in the soup because it gave her heartburn.

The girl came back with our eggs a few minutes later and Dad told her I wanted an Easter bunny. She led us to a small shed near the barn. Inside were dozens of rabbits. Some were in cages on shelves and others in pens on the floor. One pen had young rabbits. They weren’t tiny babies, but they weren’t as big as the other rabbits. Some were solid black and some were brown and some were black and white and reminded me of Holstein cows.

And then I noticed a little white rabbit sitting in the corner by himself.

“See any you like?” asked dad.

“The white one,” I replied, pointing.

The girl reached down and grabbed the rabbit by the scruff of the scruff. “This is an albino,” she said. “That’s why his eyes are pink.”

He handed me the rabbit and placed it in my expectant hands. The young rabbit sat quietly, and when I cradled him against me, he snuggled into the crook of my arm. His fur was the softest he had ever touched, softer even than Dusty’s velvety nose or a kitten’s fluffy fur.

Dad stroked the bunny’s head with two calloused fingers. “You’re a nice boy, aren’t you?”

“Should I find a box to put it in?” asked the girl.

“Is this the one you want?” asked dad.

“Yes, dad, this is the one I want,” I told him.

Dad took his old cracked and faded brown leather wallet out of his shirt pocket, flipped it open, flipped through the bills, selected one, and handed it to the girl. She put it in her pants pocket.

“I’ll go find a box,” he said.

While the girl went to the house, I was left with the rabbit curled up in my arms. Her eyelids drooped and then snapped shut.

“All right!” dad said. “You must like that bunny. He went to sleep.”

I looked at the rabbit.

“How do you know that means he likes me?” I said.

“If I was scared,” Dad said, “I’d be wide awake…”

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From the book: Where the Green Grass Grows (True Spring and Summer Stories from a Wisconsin Farm) (ISBN-13 978-1-60145-090-6; ISBN 10 1-60145-090-7; 190 pages; $13.95)

by LeAnn R. Ralph

©2006: LeAnn R. Ralph

For more information about the book, visit — http://ruralroute2.com