At the old Bayshore Independent, we were always on the lookout for human-interest feature stories to mix in with the news. So when we heard that a woman in Matawan or someplace had just won a blue ribbon with her pedigreed rabbit, hers was a story that we wanted, and it was assigned to me.
Winston, the English lop-eared rabbit, had learned a few simple tricks, was very friendly, and had fur you’d want to snuggle up to. It was easy to see how he might win first prize in a show.
“And what’s next for Winston?” I asked.
“Oh, we’re probably going to have him for Sunday dinner next week.” For a moment, a vision of Winston at the table, in a high chair. But that was clearly not what they meant. Having won the prize, they were going to eat him.
I was only in my twenties then and didn’t fully appreciate how horrible this was, although I was appalled enough. Looking back on it now, it seems to border on cannibalism. Y’know, they kept this bunny in their house and hand-raised him, and he came through with the prize they’d hoped to win–a little gratitude, please! I’m no vegetarian, but I draw the line at eating animals who have sat in my lap.
(Yeah, well, that attitude wouldn’t’ve gotten you very far in the 19th century, would it? Maybe not–but I’m not in the 19th century.)