the Fat Stock Show in Fort Worth. Same for those showing sheep. And hogs. Me? I started with two rabbits, and finished with two rabbits--healthy fat rabbits I let play on the lawn. Life was sunny side up! There was much to be glad about. I didn’t have to wrestle with good-byes to animals I knew soon would be slaughtered and served on restaurant plates. I gagged at the thought of eating my own prized animals. I had those rabbits for several more years. We never even thought of having them as a change from chicken for Sunday dinner. And, rabbit feed wasn’t all that expensive.
I LEARNED A lot that year....But so did my teacher. The next year, Mr. Wheeler handed out mimeographed sheets telling kids just about everything that could happen to their livestock projects—even step-by-step instructions for building rabbit cages—I mean, hutches. He also learned that grading could be based pretty much on sincere effort, because that’s all I had to show for rabbit-raising. Oh, and the livestock judge. Dick claims to have learned a major lesson: Never pretend to be someone you’re not. He said that was the only rabbit competition he ever judged. For years afterward, he confessed to having nightmares about asking kids to “reverse their rabbits.”
Oh, I learned another mighty important lesson! It was that most things are not worth being embarrassed about. In the years since, many is the time I’ve entered stores, head held high, to buy mineral oil or whatever, not caring if Mrs. Williams was the clerk, or who might be listening.…(I draw the line, though, on going to a woman doctor, unless I’m really sick, and she’s the only doctor around.)
ONE LAST THOUGHT: When I told my teacher about my efforts to buy a bottle of mineral oil, he reddened. His face was beyond red. His eyes filled with tears—the kind you get when you laugh until you can’t catch your breath. We thought he was going to have a smothering spell for sure. After several minutes, he closed his book and tried vainly to control himself. He couldn’t, so he dismissed the class twenty minutes early. It was the only time I ever remember getting out of class early, except maybe for PE. I still prize that “B” on my freshman report card and consider it something of a gift. And I am thankful for a compassionate teacher who loved life, and kids, and jokes, and was a full-fledged participant in a one hundred percent true funny story. They ARE the funniest! You just can’t go wrong with chicken or rabbit stories—neither is lousy, true or false!
(CRITICAL ERROR NUMBER four: Actually, I averted this error. I refer to the Holy Bible, where, in Ecclesiastes 3:1, we are reminded, “To everything there is a season.” Even though a trike bell on my bike is a bitter memory, I did NOT ditch the bell. My granddad is long since gone. I know he meant no ill. Besides, it is a strong reminder of a man who had such a positive impact on my life. In a couple of years, when my own grandson lights up the room with a smile seldom equaled—the kind a kid flashes when he first learns to peddle his tricycle--the bell will be in place, clamped right there on the bar by his thumb, so he can make all the “brrrrrng, brrrrng” sounds he wants. But, I’ve circled the date to make sure that when Ben’s thoughts turn to bicycles, the trike bell will long since have been put away.…)
One absolutely last thought: Riney Jordan, a wonderful friend of more than forty years who also likes to splash around in the great sea of past experiences, has advised me to share my rabbit-raising story with the people who do advertising for MasterCard, kinda/sorta/maybe like:
Rabbits: $5
Hutches (or cages): $10
Story About a Freshman Ag Project: PRICELESS!
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