The silence of the bunnies.....

From 1963 to 1967 my wife and I and our son lived in a rental house in Pikesville, MD. It was a country house at the end of a dead end street with an apartment upstairs. The upstairs apartment was inhabited by a soon to be artist, who was at the time, a guy who worked with me in the department store. He suggested the place, and it was a great place to live.

My wife and I became friends with the people who lived upstairs in the house next door and remained friends for years to come. They rented from the guy on the first floor whose name I can’t remember, but who is, sort of, the subject of today’s unusual story.

This guy, sort of retired as I remember, was called Uncle something or other and he worked part time at the local Armory, during events, selling hot dogs. When the event was over, he’d bring home the hot dogs and give them (or most of them) to the people upstairs from him, and they would share them with us. He was the resource to the “used” hotdogs we often had for dinner.

This story is about his hobby. He raised rabbits in the back yard.

The kids, our son and the neighbors son loved to go and look at the rabbits. The problem, as I saw it, was that he ate the rabbits. Now I will admit to once or twice having tasted a rabbit dish, so I can’t complain, but he had to kill them in the back yard.

He chopped their heads off!

Rabbits scream!!!