‘Nuther hare-brained scheme…

‘Nuther hare-brained scheme…

We lived a very simple life when we first got married. I went to town one day a week and Cush got to stay on the farm the whole time. One year he only went to town twice in a whole calendar year!.
Of course the wheels fell off that soon enough…but it was magic while it lasted.

I would leave very early in the morning and be back soon after dark. I would buy enough food for the week and since we didn’t have a fridge things always got a little tricky the couple of days before I restocked.
So we bought a few rabbits, built them cages, a house. The plan was that we would always have food on the hoof as it were. We also planned to sell any surplus.
We were forced to buy brown rabbits because the Ndebele won’t eat white ones. I tried to tell them they were same on the inside, under the fur, as the brown ones, but…
My young sister-in-law would come down to our house and sit there cooing over them. She eventually chose one as ‘hers’ and would take it out of the cage, tie a bow around its neck with a ribbon, cuddle it. It had some name or other, something original no doubt.

Bunny. Floppy. Hoppy???
Since the rabbits were for eating, we regularly ate hers, simply popped another one into the empty cage.
I always had a policy of never lying to children, even before I had kids, you know, when its easy to have policies.
One day Vee asks me at what age rabbit’s eyes change colour.
They don’t, I tell her knowledgeably.
“Oh,” says she. “Then how come my bunny now has brown eyes when it had red ones last time I saw it?”

You know, bunnies are such cute things and they really don’t taste like chicken, don’t believe what people tell you. They can’t be disguised, cos you always got them at the end of the week and they have little bones in them that chickens don’t have. And they turn into cats honk on the plate…and they have lots of glue stuff which sits on the top of the stew, no matter what you do…
In the end our bunnies died of old age. They were taken out by children at parties and petted. Occasionally we would be asked for a pair to start up a breeding program. Probably some idiot newlyweds living out of a cooler box.

I finally published Silk Threads and A Pale on Amazon…please click here…for the link

On Smashwords. Silk Threads here:

and Jack and Jill here:


About frankiekay

I'm an author from Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. I've written a novel, Silk Threads and a few short stories. Although Frankie is a pen name, she is the me who never grew up, the crazy kid who spoke to animals, talked to the wildflowers and asked awkward questions...I love: music, the silence..., distant horizons. I hate: crowds and spending money

6 responses »

    • Yup and the important part of your statement is”provided you don’t know what you are eating…” and we always knew cos it was towards the end of the week…we should have been stricter and killed them mid week…very cute things though

    • We tried not to make friends with them…but they are sooo cute. I always made sure never to make friends with the oxen brought to the feedlots…cos you know they gonna die. But my cows…I knew most of them and in the drought of 1991 I got paid well for them…the buyers said each time they stopped bidding, I looked as if I was about t burst into tears, so they bid again!! The auctioneer was shocked what a shake of the head could do to hardened butchers…

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