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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